


It’s Been a Long, Long Time

by tinzelda



Series: Stories with Titles That Are Corny Songs I Secretly Like [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M, Not Age of Ultron-compliant, Not Civil War-compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This part picks up right where “What’ll I Do?” left off. The boys go to New York to get Bucky’s prosthetic off and continue to work on figuring out what life could be like for them now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Been a Long, Long Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [poppyfields13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyfields13/profile) for reading through this monster not once, not twice, but two and a half times. Thanks from the bottom of my heart for all of your ideas and help with this story. Most importantly, thank you for your enthusiasm while I finished this—I’d probably still be wallowing in indecision without your encouragement.
> 
> Thanks also to [pharis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pharis) for always being there for me, cheering me on, and reading my long stories. You’re the best!

“He’ll be here,” Steve said. “What time do you need us? Six? Seven?”

“Please,” Tony said. “Have you met me? Maybe nine. Eight at the earliest. I’ll text you once I check in with everyone.”

“I thought medical procedures were supposed to start early in the morning?”

But Tony was already walking away, tapping at his phone as he made his way down the hall.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve waited until he turned and looked up from his screen. “Thanks. For everything you’re doing. For letting us stay here—”

Tony cut Steve off. He seemed embarrassed by the gratitude. “Don’t mention it. _Mi torre es su torre_.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re more than welcome.” Tony waved his hand, taking in not only the spacious apartment he’d given Steve and Bucky but the whole tower, if not the entire city of New York. “It’s not like we don’t have the space.”

Steve watched Tony go, grateful that he hadn’t challenged the assertion that Bucky would be there in time for his surgery. He’d stayed with Steve for the longest time so far, long enough to get in touch with Tony, go to New York, and make plans for getting the prosthetic off. But once the date for the procedure was set, Bucky’d disappeared again. Steve hadn’t seen him in a week.

Tony had carried on with the preparations. He’d gathered a medical team and so many technical experts that Steve couldn’t even imagine what they could all possibly do to help. And only once in the last week had Tony said anything about Bucky’s disappearance. He’d been referring for the one thousandth time to the diagnostic diagram Jarvis had projected. He’d let out a small, frustrated huff and said, “This would be a hell of a lot easier if Barnes were actually here so I could look at the damn thing.”

Tony had turned and looked at Steve then. He had no idea what Tony had seen on his face, but whatever it had been, it made him turn back to his work and ignore Steve for the next hour.

*****

Steve was in the kitchen tidying up when Bucky finally appeared. It was sometime after midnight, and Steve had already brushed his teeth and put on pajamas, but he hadn’t bothered getting into bed, because he’d never sleep. When he heard the door to the apartment, he headed out to the living room to greet Bucky with a hug.

“Hi,” Bucky said.

“Hi.” Steve drew back, his arms still around Bucky’s waist, to get a good look at him. He looked good. Surprisingly good. Steve was used to him coming back after time away looking tired and drawn, but he looked rested and even gave Steve a small smile, which faded quickly once he got a good look at Steve’s expression.

“What is it?” Bucky said.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“Close?” Bucky pulled away and dropped his backpack on the floor, kicking it aside. “Stark said we should be there at eight. Right?” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the texts. It was good to know he at least looked at his phone. He certainly never used it to make calls.

“Yeah, but you won’t get a good night’s sleep at this rate.”

Bucky made a face. “I don’t have to do anything other than lie there flat on my back.” He pushed past Steve and went to the kitchen.

Steve should have been on guard against scolding like a mother hen after spending the whole evening wondering where the hell Bucky was. But his group at the VA kept telling him he should talk about stuff, so he decided to be honest.

He followed Bucky into the kitchen and found him pouring a glass of orange juice. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Bucky that he wasn’t supposed to eat anything, but that would just be more nagging.

Steve leaned against the counter next to Bucky’s juice and said, “I was afraid you weren’t going to show up.”

Bucky shut the refrigerator door and stood there for a minute before turning back to look at Steve. He was frowning.

“I told you I’d be back in time.”

“I know. I just. . . .” Steve shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know this is really hard for you.”

Bucky’s frown softened, and he reached out for Steve, pulling him close. “I’m okay, actually,” Bucky said quietly. “This is gonna be good. You’ll see.”

It was probably the most hopeful thing Steve had heard him say, but when he hugged Steve, he still let his left arm hang at his side.

*****

They went downstairs a half hour early. A couple of nurses or technicians—Steve had no idea who anyone was, other than Tony—hustled Bucky through a door so quickly Steve didn’t even have a chance to wish him luck. But another nurse stayed behind.

“You can go in and see him in a minute. But you’ll have to put these on.” She handed him a plastic-wrapped package with a blue paper suit to put on over his clothes and covers for his shoes. Steve ripped the sleeve of the suit as he pulled it on.

“It’s okay,” the nurse said with a reassuring smile. “A little tear like that won’t matter. We’re just trying to cut down on the germs.”

He fumbled with the little straps at the back of the neck.

“Don’t worry about tying it,” she said. “It’ll stay on fine without it. But what’s the rush?”

Steve hadn’t even realized he’d been hurrying. “I don’t want to miss my chance.”

“I promise they won’t start before you see him.” She bent to help him fit the elastic part of the shoe covers over his sneakers. “And don’t worry. We’ve got everything under control.”

He tried to smile. “Thanks.”

Once he was ready, she led him to the door Bucky had gone through earlier. Steve heard him before he could see him. Just a single word, his voice deeper than normal: “No.”

Steve stepped around the nurse so he could catch a glimpse of Bucky. He was in a hospital gown on a gurney with his head propped up. His mouth was a hard line in his pale face.

A man in a white coat was standing next to him, looking distinctly nervous. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and took a deep breath. “But—”

“No,” Bucky repeated. This time it came out less firm.

When he saw Steve his expression didn’t change much, but Steve had learned to distinguish Bucky’s subtle pleas for help. He crossed the room in three strides and put a hand on his good shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

The doctor seemed to be waiting for Bucky to answer, but he just sat there, his jaw set. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t going to back down.

Steve looked at the doctor expectantly. He cleared his throat. His eyes darted over to Bucky, then back to Steve. He held out a hand. “I’m Dr. Hughes, the anesthesiologist.”

“I thought Tony said he didn’t need to be asleep for this?” Steve said as he shook hands.

“Well, no, he doesn’t. Not if everything goes as planned. But if something unexpected comes up—”

“Like what?”

Steve felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Tony standing there with a cheesy grin on his face. “Should have known you’d be a helicopter parent. Nothing unexpected is going to happen. The doc is just here because it’s a standard precaution.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Then what’s the problem?”

Bucky surprised Steve by speaking up. “They want to give me drugs.”

“It’s just a mild sedative,” Hughes said, “to help you relax.”

Steve looked at Bucky. He shook his head, just the tiniest movement. There was panic in his eyes, though he was keeping it under control.

“Is that really necessary?” Steve asked.

Hughes frowned. “It’s not strictly necessary, medically speaking, but this is likely to be a lengthy procedure.” He turned to Bucky. “It’s just to make you more comfortable.”

Steve thought it sounded like a good idea, but when he looked at Bucky, he almost growled, “I don’t need it.” Hughes took a half step back. Steve sighed. That was all they needed, having one of the doctors afraid of the patient.

Tony stepped closer, pushing between Hughes and Bucky’s bed. Steve made a mental note to thank him later. Tony had been oddly relaxed around Bucky, never showing any nervousness. Though Steve had noticed Tony always called him _Barnes_ —no cute nicknames.

“Okay, there we go,” Tony said. “If he says he doesn’t need it, then he doesn’t need it. You change your mind, just give a yell. The doc will be waiting on the sidelines.”

Steve watched Hughes stalk away and noticed Bruce standing in a corner. He gave an awkward wave, and Steve waved back.

“We’re good to go,” Tony said. “Maybe another five minutes.”

Tony was trying to get Steve to leave. He gave Bucky’s shoulder one last squeeze and reluctantly backed away. Bucky watched him, but he looked okay, or at least resigned.

Tony walked with Steve to the door. “You know, I have first-hand experience with being wired up, and over the years—well, let’s just say I’ve learned more about medical procedures than I ever thought I would. We’ve got this under control.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

Tony waved away the thanks with one hand. “We’ll keep you posted.”

As Tony ushered Steve out into a hallway, a few more people went in the room. Then the door pulled itself shut, and Steve found himself abruptly alone in the hallway. There was a shallow alcove with a few armchairs in it, so he forced himself to sit down.

His phone chimed. There was a text from Natasha: _Thinking of you guys. Let me know how it goes_. Steve had no idea how she knew about the procedure, but it was nice that she sent a message. He answered the text with thanks, then slid the phone back into his pocket.

A glance at his watch told him that only about five minutes had passed since he sat down. He hadn’t thought to bring a book or his sketchpad, but he probably wouldn’t have been able to concentrate anyway. Sam had offered to come sit with him, but Steve had said no. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d need him there, and Bucky likely preferred the least amount of fuss possible. But now that he was sitting there alone, he wished he had the moral support.

He stood up to pull off the paper scrubs they’d given him to wear into the operating room, and it was only after he balled them up and put them in the trash that it occurred to him that he might need them afterward. Pulling them out of the trash would defeat the purpose, so they’d just have to give him another set if he needed it.

Steve sat down again but stopped himself from looking at his watch. There was the phone—he knew there were apps with games. He’d never seen the appeal, but maybe that would help pass the time. Before he had a chance to download something, Pepper appeared.

“I thought maybe you could use some company,” she said. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just sit and get a little work done. I don’t want you to think you have to entertain me.”

“Thanks,” Steve answered. “Thanks a lot.”

Pepper sat on the chair next to Steve’s, slid an impossibly small laptop out of her bag, and began typing. Steve was grateful for her silence. It was a relief not to have to wait alone, but he wasn’t up to conversation.

After they’d been waiting an hour, Pepper went for coffee and came back with muffins too. Steve had been so focused on getting Bucky out the door that morning that he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He felt better after a snack, but time dragged.

Still, it was amazing how quickly they’d been able to get to this point. Only a few days after the first phone call, they were in New York, in Tony’s workshop, Bucky looking skittish but determined. Tony was unusually still, physically—probably not wanting to spook Bucky—but his mind and his mouth were as quick as always.

“We’ll run some diagnostics today, and see what we’re dealing with. Then I’ll start building the new prosthesis.” Tony gave a wolfish grin. “That’ll be the fun part. I’ll get the ball rolling with a medical team too. In a few months, we’ll have you set up with a brand new arm.”

Bucky looked at Steve, panic in his eyes, like he thought Steve was going to try to talk him into this plan. In some ways, it made sense, not taking off the old arm until they could start getting him fitted for a new one. Steve would have loved to get everything taken care of all at once, but he knew that Bucky couldn’t wait.

“We need to move faster than that,” Steve said.

Tony was already pulling up diagrams on his floating screens. He let out a questioning, distracted hum.

Steve blurted out, “He wants the damn thing off, Tony.”

Bucky grimaced and looked at the floor.

“Oh?” Tony looked at Steve, then at Bucky, “Okay. Okay, sure, we can do that. If you’re okay with being without a prosthetic for a while.”

The memory was interrupted by three people running down the hall, talking in hissing whispers.

Steve was on his feet in an instant. “Is there a problem?”

One man swiped his card in the slot by the door, and when it opened, he and the woman dashed through, but the other man turned and gave Steve a tight smile. “Probably nothing. Just a precaution.” Then he slipped away.

The door fell shut, locking automatically just before Steve’s hand closed around the knob. He tried to peer through the window, but the passageway turned a corner before opening up into the room where Bucky was, so there was nothing to see but a blank wall.

He thought about knocking. He thought about ripping the plastic box with the card slot off the wall to see if the door would unlock, but if there _was_ a problem it would be better to let them focus on Bucky. After staring through the window for a few more beats, he forced himself to walk back to his chair.

Without a word, Pepper slipped her hand into his. Steve gave it a squeeze, but he couldn’t look at her. The kindness in her eyes would be too much.

A knock brought Steve back to his feet, and Pepper too, her fingers clamped tight around his. Tony was looking through the window wearing a broad smile. He lifted one hand, gave a cheerful thumbs-up, and was gone.

The crisis must be over, whatever it was, but was the arm off? Were they finished? Tony wouldn’t imply everything was okay if it wasn’t, right?

Steve dared a look at Pepper. She gave him a reassuring smile, then sank back onto her chair, tugging at his hand until he joined her.

Twenty-two more minutes passed—Steve checked his watch too many times to count—before there was any news. Maria Hill emerged from the door looking cool as a cucumber, but when Steve jumped to his feet and she caught his eye, she gave him a warm smile.

“It went very well,” she said. “They’re finishing up.”

Steve had let go of Pepper’s hand when he’d leapt out of his chair, and now she stepped close, slid it in the crook of his elbow, and asked, “What was all that commotion?”

Another wave of gratitude swept through Steve. He couldn’t seem to find words, but in the presence of Pepper’s calm capability, he didn’t have to.

Hill’s eyes jumped from Pepper’s face to Steve’s. “There was a surprise, but it was managed immediately.”

Steve found his voice. “What does that mean?”

“A kind of booby trap, triggered when the prosthetic came off—a vial of liquid,” Hill explained. “It was deployed—”

“Poison?” Steve’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Seems likely. But they made sure it didn’t touch him, not one drop. That was when you saw the other team come in, to contain and analyze it.”

All those people in the room, and they still had other experts waiting in the wings. There were other questions Steve should probably have been asking, but there was only one thing he cared about: “When can I see him?”

Hill gave him a tight smile. “Soon. He’s in recovery. They just want to make sure everything is fine. That he’s completely stable and. . . .”

Steve guessed what she didn’t want to say, but was it really possible that removing the arm would trigger something? He felt so sure that the conditioning had broken down. “Were you in there?”

She stepped closer and put a hand out to touch his arm. With Pepper still on the other side, Steve felt silly. He wasn’t the one who’d had surgery, so he shouldn’t need so much comforting.

“I wasn’t in the room during the procedure,” Hill said. “But I did see him briefly before I came out to talk to you. He’s doing fine, Steve. Really.”

Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Hill moved away, though Pepper stayed close, her hand still tucked through his arm. They talked, their voices muted, while Steve stood there stupidly until the tablet Hill was carrying chirped, and she smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

Pepper released Steve’s arm after one last reassuring squeeze. “I’ll wait here.”

Hill led Steve through the locked door and past the area where he’d left Bucky before the procedure. It was still full of people, including Tony, who was examining Bucky’s metal arm on a stainless steel counter, too absorbed to notice Steve passing by. The prosthetic, by itself, looked innocuous enough, its curves still beautiful, like an abstract sculpture.

“This is his room,” Hill said, pausing by a plain wooden door.

There was another slot next to it. Were they keeping Bucky locked in? Steve didn’t object, not now—he just wanted to see Bucky as soon as possible—but he must have scowled.

“We want to limit who has access,” Hill explained. “It’s for his safety.” After swiping her card, she pressed it into Steve’s hand, then pushed the door open and held it as Steve passed through. He turned back to thank her, and after one last smile, she was gone.

The room looked like it could have been in any old hospital—Tony hadn’t been lying when he said the tower infirmary was fully equipped to deal with the procedure. There was a door to Steve’s right opening into a tiled bathroom. He had to walk past the bathroom to see around into an alcove where the bed was. The moment Steve peeked around the corner, Bucky’s gaze locked on his. He looked smaller somehow without the arm, but he smiled at Steve—just a flash.

Two women in scrubs hovered around Bucky, one on either side of the bed, hooking him up to a blood pressure cuff and wires on sticky pads. Bucky barely seemed to notice, but it made Steve uneasy to see him tied down by all that technology.

He was careful to keep his voice mild. “Is all that really necessary?”

The nurse on the left looked up at him. Her smile seemed forced, but she was all patience. “It’s mostly monitors. If things continue normally, we’ll take them off as soon as possible.”

“I don’t mind.” Bucky’s voice came out rusty.

When the nurse on the right gave Steve a smile, it was more genuine than her colleague’s. “We’ll give you some privacy.” She showed Bucky where the call button was on the side rail of the bed, then brushed past Steve. She waited until the other nurse finished adjusting the monitors to her satisfaction, and they walked out together.

Steve made a beeline to the far side of the bed and took Bucky’s hand in both of his. Bucky smiled as Steve perched on the edge of the mattress.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Bucky said. “Really good.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Bucky’s smile widened, and he nodded, already pulling his hand away to wrap it around the back of Steve’s neck and tug him forward. This was his Bucky: warm and affectionate.

The kiss turned into two, three, then more. There was no heat to them, but they were no less intense for being slow and gentle. Steve leaned closer and put a careful hand on Bucky’s chest. He was so wrapped up in the embrace that the voice behind him made him jump right up to his feet.

“Wow, okay,” Tony said. “See, I was not expecting that.”

“Tony—”

“No, it explains a lot.” Tony was studying Steve, clear appraisal in his eyes, but the corner of his mouth showed the hint of a smile, and he launched right into a barrage of words about how well everything had gone.

Steve only caught about half of it. He was too busy trying to gauge Bucky’s reaction and getting his own under control. It was the first time they’d ever been caught—it was hard for Steve to think of it any other way, though he knew there was nothing wrong with their innocent kisses. He had told Sam about him and Bucky, but this was the first time anyone had seen them together like that. Steve felt surprisingly pleased, especially since Tony seemed completely unfazed, but he didn’t know how Bucky would feel about it. His expression was blank, but that was how he always looked around Tony: a protective façade.

“So it turns out your plan of getting the hardware off asap was for the best. The doc says she wouldn’t want to put a new prosthetic on there until you’re healed anyway, so this is good.” Tony’s flood of words paused. Once Bucky gave the barest of nods, Tony started right back up again. “She’s coming by soon, so she can tell you more about that part of it. But from my end, we’re good. Got some measurements, got some brilliant ideas, and now I can pull apart the old one and see what makes it tick.”

Something around Bucky’s eyes tightened. Tony didn’t seem to even notice, but Steve could tell Bucky didn’t want to talk about the old prosthetic, or about getting a replacement. Steve didn’t push about it. It sounded like it would take Tony a while to design something new anyway.

There was a knock at the door. Bucky didn’t so much as look up, so Steve called out, “Come in.”

A tiny Asian woman in a white coat came into the room. Most of her hair was pulled back in a clip, but long bangs hung down well below her eyebrows. She swept the hair out of her eyes before introducing herself as Dr. Jeong.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Steve was ready to answer, but Bucky beat him to it. “Fine.” It came out quiet, but Steve was pleased that he’d spoken at all.

“Excellent,” Dr. Jeong said. “Everything went remarkably well. We were able to disengage the prosthetic with minimal damage to the residual limb, and there was no need to remove any additional tissue.”

Steve winced. He wanted to touch Bucky, if only to reassure himself, but he wouldn’t while Bucky remained still and expressionless. At least he seemed to be listening to the doctor.

Talking about Bucky’s arm made Steve take a good look for the first time. He’d been so eager to read Bucky’s mood that he’d barely looked away from his face. Now he found himself staring, though there wasn’t much to see. The sheet was pulled up, and what little Steve could see of Bucky’s shoulder was covered with bandages. Though Steve was reassured to see the shape of the shoulder itself and some of Bucky’s arm too. He’d seen the scans and knew that the upper part of the prosthetic had covered flesh and bone, and they’d warned Bucky that removing it might require further amputation. _I don’t care_ , he’d said. _I want it off_.

“We made detailed records of everything.” Dr. Jeong said. “The technology was remarkable—so that will help Mr. Stark in making your replacement.”

Tony cut in. “Might help with a lot more than that. It’s some cutting edge stuff—could push forward prosthetics design, to be honest. The whole field, once we share this.”

Bucky had agreed to let Tony dissect the old prosthetic in exchange for his help. Steve had made a point of warning him that some of the technology might be weaponized but wasn’t against Tony using some of what he learned in his suits. Something helpful to so many coming out of this sounded great to Steve, but Bucky was staring down at his hand on the white blanket covering his lap.

“We also tested your blood,” Dr. Jeong said. “We were certain that—”

Tony interrupted her. She frowned, clearly not accustomed to the way that Tony’s ideas sometimes bubbled out of him without warning. “Barnes, you should see some of these guys, chomping at the bit to get their hands on your DNA. They want to compare it to Cap’s, see what’s going on.”

Remembering the vial after vial of blood they’d taken from him after Dr. Erskine’s death, Steve felt a surge of anger. The last thing he wanted was for Bucky to feel like a lab rat. He’d given Tony the arm, but he hadn’t given anyone permission for blood tests.

“Don’t get your star-spangled boxers in a twist. This was all standard stuff. Well, not exactly _standard_ —I don’t think it’s standard to screen for these kinds of toxins—”

“Mr. Stark—” Dr. Jeong started, at the same time that Steve said, “Tony—” They both stopped when Tony threw up his hands.

“Hey, just thought I’d mention it. For future use. Knowledge is power, you know.” Not shrinking from Steve’s steely gaze, Tony finally rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m trying to help the guy out, here. This could be _useful_. Leverage. Bargaining power. At some point this is going to fall into a huge legal gray area, and the more cards in your hand, the better.”

Steve glanced at Bucky and saw a flicker of interest.

Dr. Jeong charged ahead as if Tony had never spoken, though she looked distinctly uncomfortable. “As I was saying, we were certain that none of the substance in the obvious ruptured vial got into your bloodstream, but we wanted to verify that there were no other toxins introduced. The blood tests came back clear, though, so that’s encouraging. We’ll continue with further tests, but I’m not really concerned.” She paused, waiting for a response. When Bucky nodded slightly, she continued. “I’m also pleased about the state of your arm. We made a minimal number of incisions, and most were small enough that they didn’t even require stitches. I think you would heal nicely, even without any enhanced healing factor.”

Steve’s eyes were drawn to Bucky’s face once again. He was surprised that Bucky’d explained so much about his enhancements.

“Still, we’d like to keep you under observation for a while. But I’ll let you get some rest, if you don’t have any questions.”

Steve had a million questions, but Bucky was scowling, and this wouldn’t be the last chance to ask, so Steve kept his mouth shut.

*****

_**Brooklyn, June 1931** _

“Steve.”

The other kids smirk at each other, and Steve’s cheeks go warm. He’s never been the first one picked before. He always thought it would feel good.

Steve goes to stand next to Bucky, cause that’s what you do when the team captain picks you, but he wants to knock the grin off Bucky’s face. At least he thinks that’s what he wants until Bucky gets a load of Steve heading towards him, spitting mad, and his smile disappears. Steve stares at his shoes until all the guys have been picked.

Steve doesn’t say a word to Bucky throughout the entire game. Not that he could have even if he wanted to. Bucky’s on the pitcher’s mound, and Steve’s the farthest guy from the plate, out where the lot turns to broken bricks and tall weeds, because Bucky may be team captain but not even he’s stupid enough to put Steve in the infield. There would be mutiny. Plus Bucky likes winning. But Steve doesn’t talk to Bucky when it’s their turn at bat either. He leans against the wall at the far end of the line from Bucky, even though they’re right next to each other in batting order.

“Good game,” Bucky says cheerfully as they walk home after. “Did you see that double I got?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

“C’mon, Steve.” Bucky’s voice is quiet. He sounds miserable. “Why are you sore at me? I picked you first. Last time you were mad because you got picked last.”

The last time they played baseball with this group, Gilbert Lang made a face and took Steve cause he was the only guy left.

“This is worse,” Steve says.

“Worse?” Bucky shakes his head. “How is it worse?”

“Now everyone knows you feel sorry for me.”

Bucky looks hurt for a second, then he looks mad. “You think that’s why I picked you?”

Steve keeps his jaw stubbornly clenched. He walks as fast as he can, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

“Do you want to know why I picked you? Why I picked you over Gilbert and Tom and even Donald Connelly who just got a new mitt? Why I picked you over the bigger guys and the faster guys? I picked you first because you’re my best friend, you stupid jerk.”

Bucky darts away then, his legs pumping as he runs.

*****

“You should go upstairs,” Bucky said. “Get some real sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Steve insisted. “I don’t want to leave you here on your own.”

“On my own? Seems like there’s somebody coming in every half hour to take my blood pressure or offer me drugs or poke at me.”

It was true. The few times Bucky had managed to fall into a light doze in the two days since his surgery, he’d been startled awake by the door opening. He was surprisingly patient with it. Steve was sure getting fed up. But to be fair, he’d spent the night in a straight-backed chair at Bucky’s bedside, and he hadn’t slept much either.

“I know,” Steve said. “But that’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

Bucky made a face. “I don’t really even know why they’re keeping me. Seems like overkill.”

Steve leaned forward and took Bucky’s hand. “Just being careful. Nothing wrong with that.”

“How long do they want me to stay anyway? We’d be right upstairs.”

“You want to leave early? I could ask, I guess.”

Bucky shrugged, though only with his right side, and let his head fall back onto the pillow. His lack of response now made Steve suddenly realize how much he’d been talking. All day—not just responding to direct questions, but really making conversation with Steve. But that had been happening more lately anyway, hadn’t it? It wasn’t just a result of the arm coming off.

Bucky’s eyes closed, and he let out a long sigh. It seemed like he was finally drifting off.

When the door opened a little while later and Dr. Jeong appeared, Steve tried to pull his hand away, but Bucky’s fingers closed tight around his and held on. Steve looked at him in surprise—secrecy was a reflex—and found him looking serious. When Steve smiled, Bucky’s expression relaxed. It was such a silly thing, but it felt good to maintain that contact in front of a virtual stranger. Not that she seemed to notice.

She smiled brightly. “How are you feeling?”

Steve was surprised when Bucky smiled back at her—a wide grin. “I’m feeling pretty good,” he said.

Steve hadn’t heard that tone in Bucky’s voice in a very long time. It was how he sounded when he was flirting.

“In fact,” he continued, “I was hoping you might consider springing me pretty soon.”

Steve tightened his hand around Bucky’s. So Bucky’s noncommittal shrug earlier hadn’t indicated that he didn’t care about getting out of the infirmary. Was it possible that he’d simply wanted to speak for himself?

“We’d be just upstairs, and really, I’d be better off up there. Nice and quiet. I’d get more rest, and that’s—”

Dr. Jeong held up one hand and laughed. “You’ll get no argument from me. I came in to ask about how comfortable you’d both be with learning to change the bandages.”

Bucky’s expression shut down. “I can do it myself.”

Steve opened his mouth to make it clear he didn’t mind at all, but Bucky glared at him.

Dr. Jeong pretended not to notice. “Yes, you might be able to do it on your own, but just in case you do need help, I’d like Captain Rogers to know what to do.” Bucky nodded, if a bit sullenly, and Dr. Jeong said, “I can get the nurse to come in and show you, and once she feels comfortable that you two can manage on your own, I think you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.”

Bucky paused. “Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his hand gripped Steve’s so tightly it hurt.

“Thanks,” Steve said. “That’s great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

A couple of hours later they were in the elevator heading back to the apartment. Bucky insisted on carrying his own bag, and once they got inside he headed straight for the bathroom. He had to keep his bandages dry, so a shower was off limits for a few days, but he leaned over the sink to wash his hair, then climbed into the stall without turning on the showerhead to scrub himself as much as he could with a sudsy washcloth. Steve came to the door and watched the movements of his body through the frosted glass shower doors. “Need anything?”

“Nope.”

He said it cheerfully enough, so Steve let him be. He wandered around the apartment, but there was nothing to keep him busy. The night before the surgery, he’d tidied the place while waiting for Bucky to show up and had barely been back since then. By the time he circled back to the bedroom, Bucky’d pulled on sweatpants and was carefully threading the sleeve of a T-shirt over his bandages.

“I got it,” Bucky said, though Steve hadn’t offered to help this time. He kept his distance, letting Bucky do it on his own, but he couldn’t help wincing. The T-shirt tugged against the bandages as Bucky stretched the fabric to get his head through, though Bucky didn’t seem pained. Once he slipped his right arm into the other sleeve, he collapsed on top of the covers, making Steve wince again.

“Dr. Jeong said to take it easy for a while,” Steve said.

Bucky made a face that was almost a smile. “I’m laying in bed. How much easier can I take it?”

“I just mean the way you got in—just sort of fell onto it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “You coming to bed?”

“I was gonna clean up too.”

Bucky didn’t answer. His eyes were already closed. They were still closed when Steve emerged from the bathroom after his shower, pulled on pajama bottoms, and grabbed a T-shirt. He was carefully quiet closing his dresser drawers, but found Bucky watching him when he turned.

“Come to bed.”

Bucky was half-asleep, and Steve wanted nothing more than to press close and bury his face in Bucky’s chest, but he hesitated.

“Maybe I should bunk in the other room tonight.”

Bucky turned his face away. His jaw was set. After a too-long pause, he finally spoke, but his voice was no longer content and sleepy. “I thought getting rid of the arm would make things better.”

“Give it a chance.” Steve dropped his shirt on the foot of the bed and sat down next to Bucky. “It will be better. Once you’re healed, they’ll fit you for a new arm, and—”

Bucky cut him off. “But you won’t touch me now.”

“What?” “You haven’t touched me once since we got back here, and back in the infirmary—it’s like you think I’m going to break.”

“I’m just being careful. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky let out a derisive snort. “You know, that’s funny. That’s real funny. Because for the first time in ages I’m _not_ worried I’m going to hurt you.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve settled himself on the bed, slowly so he wouldn’t jostle the mattress too much. Bucky came close, but Steve put one hand on his chest. “You’ll tell me if something hurts?”

Bucky’s head fell forward, and he sighed loudly.

“What?”

Bucky lifted his head to level a stern gaze at Steve. “I never thought you’d forget what it’s like to be treated like an invalid.”

“Okay, sorry. I—” Steve stopped himself from making more excuses, slid his hand around Bucky’s waist, and kissed him softly. It was good to have Bucky in his arms, with no one else around. When he pulled away, Bucky’s eyes were closed, but he was wearing a small smile. Steve kissed him again.

“I’ll get the light,” Bucky said. He rolled over onto his back. With the lamp being on the left side of the bed, he couldn’t easily turn it off. But he didn’t get frustrated—just turned more so he could reach the lamp cord with his right hand. Putting weight on his left shoulder made him hiss, however, and he fell onto his back.

“Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Steve rested a comforting hand on Bucky’s stomach, but he had taken what Bucky’d said to heart—he remembered all too well being treated like a child simply because he was ill, and he’d always been grateful that Bucky’d never done that to him. Not that he hadn’t been helpful, but he managed to do it in a matter-of-fact way that never made Steve feel belittled. All Steve had to do was act like Bucky used to.

“Let me get it,” Steve said, all business. He stopped himself from turning away and walking around the bed to get to the lamp and instead crawled over Bucky’s legs. Once the light was out, he stayed on Bucky’s side of the bed, spooning up behind him and wrapping one arm around him. He was careful not to jar the stump of Bucky’s left arm, but he made himself move as normally as he could.

Steve still wasn’t sure about the exact state of Bucky’s arm and shoulder. He knew that parts of the prosthetic had been attached—how else could it have moved so responsively?—but the few times he’d tried to ask Dr. Jeong specific questions, Bucky had frowned and interrupted. Steve wasn’t sure if it was because Bucky wanted to speak for himself or if he simply didn’t want Steve to know.

Steve rubbed his hand over Bucky’s belly, and Bucky snuggled closer, pushing his hips back against Steve’s. Being so close, his nose pushed into the clean scent of Bucky’s hair—it was enough to make Steve hard.

Bucky snickered. “Not repulsed then, huh?”

Steve pressed his face more firmly against the back of Bucky’s neck. “C’mon, you know I never could be—” The words were strangled when Bucky pushed back with more purpose, rubbing his ass up and down Steve’s rapidly growing erection. Steve tightened his arm around Bucky’s waist. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

Bucky shifted in the bed, fumbling under the covers until he could grab Steve’s hand and push it down into the waistband of his sweats. He was hard too. Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s dick and groaned out his name.

“I’ll take it easy, I promise,” Bucky whispered. “You can be on top.”

Steve laughed and, when Bucky turned onto his back, skimmed his mouth over the rough stubble on Bucky’s jaw.

“What, no more arguing?”

“Nope,” Steve said against Bucky’s Adam’s apple. “You gotta make your own choices, right?” He dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of Bucky’s throat.

Bucky’s fingers slid through Steve’s hair, and he lifted his head for another lingering kiss before sliding farther down Bucky’s body, shoving his T-shirt up to get at more skin. He belatedly remembered the bandages and froze, but Bucky hadn’t given any indication that he was in pain, so Steve worked his way down Bucky’s chest, though he did stick to the right side.

Bucky let out a long breath, not quite a sigh. His fingers were still tangled in Steve’s hair, and he used the leverage to yank Steve’s head up when he teased with his tongue at Bucky’s belly button—always a ticklish spot. Steve grinned and looked up, but he couldn’t see Bucky’s expression in the dimness.

Steve hooked one finger over the waistband of Bucky’s sweats, and right away Bucky lifted his hips so Steve could pull them off. Once Bucky’d settled back down onto the mattress, Steve pushed between his legs and bent down to kiss his stomach. He’d strayed too close to his belly button again, and Bucky shoved his head away. “Cut it out.” But Steve could hear the restrained laughter in his voice.

Bucky nudged at Steve’s head again, pushing him toward his cock, and Steve went willingly, bending his head to mouth at the tip, making Bucky moan. Bucky’s fingers wove through Steve’s hair again, steering Steve where he wanted him. Steve sucked his dick into his mouth and massaged with his tongue.

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky breathed out. “That’s so good, so—”

His voice cut off when Steve closed his lips, sucking hard, and his fingers formed a fist, pulling at Steve’s hair. Steve had gotten used to the feeling of hard metal against his skin, but its absence now lifted a shadow—Bucky was different: more pliant under Steve’s hands and not so carefully gentle. He let his hips hitch up, murmuring encouraging nonsense as Steve licked and sucked at him.

Steve pulled off and wrapped his hand around the base of Bucky’s dick so he could tease the head, flicking his tongue over the slit and sliding around the ridge. “God, that’s—” Bucky used his grip in Steve’s hair to pull his head back down, thrusting up to fuck deep into Steve’s mouth.

Steve was grinding his own hips into the mattress, but it wasn’t enough. He pushed up onto all fours.

Bucky groaned. “God, don’t stop. I was almost—”

“I need—” Steve couldn’t think.

“Need what?”

Steve crawled up for a kiss. “Need to kiss you.”

Bucky smiled against Steve’s lips before plunging his tongue between them. His hand cradled the back of Steve’s head before sliding down his neck and pressing at his shoulder, urging him to move closer.

Steve wanted everything at once—wanted to suck Bucky off, wanted Bucky to fuck him—but had no patience. He shoved his pajamas down and fell on Bucky, sliding their cocks together. Bucky’s arm hooked around his neck, holding him close.

A few rough thrusts and Steve came with a groan. Bucky kissed him through it, his hips pushing up, sending a second wave of pleasure through Steve before the first was even over. Bucky pulled him closer, tucking his face against Steve’s neck. Bucky was moving under him, his hand clutching at Steve’s shoulder. Steve pushed against Bucky again, gliding through the slick heat between their bodies—still hard and almost unbearably sensitive. He pushed himself up on one hand and shoved the other between them, wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s dick.

“Yes,” Bucky hissed. “Like that. God, please.” Steve’s hand stroked faster. Bucky’s hips jerked up, then froze, and his dick pulsed in Steve’s hand as he came.

Steve slumped forward, leaving his sticky hand wedged between their even-stickier stomachs.

“That was real smooth,” Bucky said slowly. He laughed a little as he kissed Steve’s temple.

Steve pushed himself up onto his knees—it was awkward with his pajamas still tight around his thighs—and smiled down at Bucky. He allowed himself one quick visual check of Bucky’s bandages but turned his gaze away as soon as he verified that they were undisturbed by the T-shirt rucked up around Bucky’s armpits. Steve bit his lip at the way Bucky was sprawled out on the bed: the hair on his stomach wetly matted. He shoved his pajama pants the rest of the way off and used them to mop up the mess.

“You wanna take this off?” Steve slid one finger under the rumpled hem of Bucky’s T-shirt.

Bucky let out a contented hum. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

Bucky rolled his head from side to side on the pillow.

“Okay.” Steve pulled the covers up, resting his head on Bucky’s chest and stretching his arm across Bucky’s belly. “That was good.”

Bucky’s fingers traced lazy circles on Steve’s back and shoulders. “I hate to say I told you so. . . .”

“You don’t hate it at all.”

Bucky didn’t answer, but his smugness was palpable—not that Steve was complaining.

“Steve?”

Steve stifled a yawn. “Yeah?”

“Were you with anyone, while you thought I was dead?”

“Bucky . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“I was miserable.”

Bucky shrugged, his shoulder shifting under Steve’s head. “Okay.”

His hand resumed its idle movements across Steve’s skin, but now it tickled rather than soothed. Finally Steve blurted out the truth. “Three times. Well, four.”

Bucky’s hand stilled. “What?”

“Four times,” Steve explained. “With three people.”

“You had sex with three people while I was dead?”

“No, jeez, Buck.” Steve pulled away and sat up. “I went out on _dates_ with three people. And you weren’t dead.”

Bucky seemed unruffled. “You only had four dates?”

Steve didn’t answer “And you didn’t have sex with any of them?”

“Bucky . . .”

“Why not?” “I was—” Steve had been about to say I _was in mourning_ , but he didn’t think Bucky would like that. “You know I’m terrible with that stuff.”

Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair. “Not terrible. I’ve never complained, have I?”

“You said it yourself—I’ve never been smooth.”

Bucky tugged at Steve, pulling him close again, and Steve didn’t fight it, settling himself back beside Bucky. But now that he was thinking about this subject, there was something he wanted to get out in the open. He doubted he’d ever have a better opportunity to tell Bucky the truth.

“Peggy kissed me once.”

There was no response.

“After you . . . after you fell,” Steve said. “Just before I got in the plane. She just grabbed me and . . .”

“I’m glad.” But Bucky didn’t sound glad.

Steve was still confused about Peggy. He would never admit it to Bucky—not in a million years—but he would have clung to Peggy if he hadn’t gone into the ice. It would have been impossible to resist. No girl had ever looked at him like that before. He would have taken every ounce of her strength and fire, though he wondered if it would have been enough.

“Anyway, I didn’t like being out there,” Steve said. “On dates, I mean. People recognize me sometimes. Too often. I have enough trouble finding things to talk about without worrying about an audience.”

Steve felt more than heard Bucky’s laugh, the breath moving his hair. And it seemed like Bucky wasn’t too bothered by what Steve had said about Peggy. It probably wasn’t much of a surprise to him. It seemed like the subject was closed, but just as Steve started to drift off, Bucky spoke again.

“Men or women?”

Steve groaned.

“What?” Bucky said. “I’m just curious. It’s different now, and I never knew. . . .”

“Yeah,” Steve said carefully. “I never knew either.”

Bucky laughed quietly and kissed the top of Steve’s head.

“Women,” Steve said. “I thought about trying with a guy, but. . . .”

Bucky’s arm tightened around Steve.

“Like I said,” Steve continued. “Being recognized. It all got so intimidating.”

“But things really are different now. It’s not illegal. People aren’t so shocked. So what does it matter if someone recognized you?”

“It just seemed _easier_. You know? When I didn’t really want to be doing it anyway.”

“Stark saw us,” Bucky said.

“Yeah.”

“He’s not exactly . . .”

“Discreet?” Steve laughed. “Yeah, I know. But he’s a friend.”

“He is?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t act like you like him very much.”

“That’s just. . . . It’s hard to explain.”

“It bothers you that he knows.”

“No.” Steve wasn’t exactly lying. “No, Tony doesn’t care. He was surprised maybe, but he doesn’t care.”

Bucky was quiet, and Steve wondered if it bothered _him_ that Tony knew.

“I really don’t think he cares, Buck.”

“So if I’d never come back,” Bucky said, as if he hadn’t been listening to Steve at all. “You would have just kept on having terrible dates with dames you didn’t care about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it would have gotten easier. It hadn’t been all that long for me, you know? Maybe it would have gotten easier.”

“It might have been easier with a fella, you know? Less fuss.”

“I don’t know.” Steve didn’t really want to think about it, even now. “I never could figure that out.”

Bucky rubbed Steve’s shoulder. “Good thing I’m here then, huh? So you don’t have to.”

*****

When Steve got back from his run, the apartment seemed deserted. Had Bucky skipped out so soon? The doctor had only released him from the infirmary two days before. But as Steve made his way down the hallway, he saw that the bathroom door was almost shut, and the light was on. In the narrow space between the door and the jamb, he caught a glimpse of movement, a flash of white. Bucky was trying to change his bandages.

“Bucky?”

He spun around, moving closer so all Steve could see was half of his face and part of his good shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I can help, if you want.”

The nurse had come into the infirmary to teach them how to replace the dressing while Steve was out grabbing lunch, so his bandaging lesson had been theoretical rather than practical. Still, he thought it would be easier for him to do it than it would be for Bucky to wrap everything himself, straining to reach with just one hand.

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “But I got it.” He forced a smile, then gently closed the door.

It was a clear signal to give him some privacy, but Steve hovered by the door. “You sure?”

There was a pause before Bucky answered, his voice a shade sharper in tone. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Steve made himself walk away. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water and stood leaning against the counter as he drank. Bucky stayed behind the closed bathroom door for a long time, but Steve didn’t let himself knock and offer to help again.

He hadn’t seen Bucky’s arm and shoulder without bandages yet, but he hadn’t given it much thought until now, when Bucky’s behavior made it clear that he was purposefully avoiding letting Steve help. Was it just that Bucky wanted to do as much as possible on his own? Or was he afraid to let Steve see?

The skin on his shoulder had been roped with scars around the edges of the prosthetic, and Steve couldn’t imagine how it would look in the areas that had been covered by metal for decades. But it didn’t matter—Steve was determined not to let himself get upset over something he couldn’t change. In just a few days he’d gotten used to the sight of Bucky’s wrapped left arm, ending abruptly well above where his elbow used to be. He would get used to seeing the scars too. He would. If Bucky would only let him see.

*****

_**November 1943** _

Bucky’s quiet as Steve whispers the story of his transformation. Even when Steve is done, he doesn’t ask questions or get angry—Steve had worried that Bucky would give him hell for taking a risk like that. But he just stares up at the sloping roof of the infirmary tent.

“C’mon, Buck, say something. Please.”

Ever since Steve pulled those straps off Bucky and dragged him up off that table, he’d wanted nothing more than to pull Bucky into his arms, but Bucky’d been distant. So Steve kept quiet for the whole long hike back to camp.

“Bucky?”

“Sorry.” Bucky shakes his head. “I just realized—I mean, I just figured out what they were doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the stuff they did to me. I couldn’t figure out why they hell they were doing it. They never asked me any questions. Now I get it—some of the stuff they said. I didn’t understand it all—my German’s not that good—but they wanted to turn me into another you. It just didn’t work.”

Steve freezes in horror. “Bucky.” Bucky turns his head, and his eyes suddenly focus. He’d been lost in his own thoughts, only half-listening.

“Stop making that face. I don’t care.” Bucky reaches out, glides a hand over Steve’s newly broad shoulder, and pulls his hand away with a frown. He seems to have trouble looking straight at Steve—his gaze keeps slipping off of him. “If only one of us got the good stuff, I’m glad it was you. I don’t have to worry anymore you’re gonna keel over just because you get the sniffles.”

Bucky means every word—Steve doesn’t doubt that. But he still feels irrationally responsible for what Bucky went through.

“I think I got some good stuff too.” Bucky smiles. “I mean, I already feel better. Even though we were walking forever. So I must have gotten some of the healing stuff, right?”

*****

When Steve heard the shower shut off, he sat up straighter. Bucky’d come home that afternoon from a check-up with Dr. Jeong in a quietly cheerful mood. She’d given him the go-ahead for a shower and told him he didn’t need to come back to see her for a whole month.

So after a celebratory dinner—Bucky’d chosen Chinese delivery, picked each dish, and even made the phone call himself—he headed for the bathroom and spent over half an hour in the shower. Steve had been tempted to join him, but he didn’t want to intrude. Instead, he picked up a book and tried to make himself comfortable on the bed, though he kept reading the same page over and over without really absorbing the words.

With steam puffing out of the bathroom door behind him, Bucky emerged with one towel wrapped around his waist and drying his hair with another. He looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye and smirked, though he tried to hide it. Bucky obviously knew that Steve was hoping to fool around, but Steve didn’t care—subtlety had never been his strong suit. Bucky pulled the towel off his head and hung it over his shoulders. As he turned to the mirror over the dresser to comb his hair, Steve let his eyes roam over Bucky’s body.

It was the first time he’d seen him without bandages. Bucky’d always wanted to change the dressing himself, and he was amazingly adept at doing it—he never showed any frustration at having only one hand to work with—and it always looked just as it had when the nurse had done it in the infirmary.

Steve steeled himself for the moment Bucky pulled the towel off. Right now, it covered most of Bucky’s shoulder and arm, though Steve could see some skin peeking out from under the terry cloth. There was one angry red line up the back of the arm, and even from a distance Steve could see where the individual stitches had been removed that afternoon, but the surrounding flesh looked remarkably healthy.

Bucky dropped the comb on top of the dresser and stretched his arm back, rubbing the towel over his shoulders to dry the water that had dripped off his hair. It was awkward with one hand, but Steve had mostly stopped asking if Bucky wanted help.

Steve caught glimpses of Bucky’s opposite shoulder. He couldn’t determine much between the movements of the towel, but what little he did see was encouraging. The color was good—Steve had been dreading a mass of angry welts or raw, red skin—so maybe the damage wasn’t as bad as Steve feared.

Bucky plucked the towel off, hung it from the bathroom doorknob, and went back to the mirror to fuss with his hair yet again. Steve smiled—he’d always been indulgent of Bucky’s harmless vanity, and right now he was grateful for a chance to study Bucky unobserved.

But Steve found himself blinking in disbelief. He could see precisely where the metal had covered Bucky’s shoulder, but the thick scars that had bordered the prosthetic had faded. He skin was almost smooth and only slightly discolored. How was it possible, even with enhanced healing, for such heavy scarring to have faded so quickly?

It took a few moments of slack-jawed staring before Steve understood: the prosthetic had been cutting into Bucky’s flesh, over and over, raising scars that could never heal.

Steve leapt off the bed and went to Bucky’s side. Bucky looked at him in the mirror. He still wore a slight smile, but there was uncertainty in his eyes that increased when he saw Steve’s expression.

“Oh, Buck.” Steve was afraid to touch him. Up close, the skin looked pink and tender.

Bucky turned away from the mirror, meeting Steve’s gaze for a moment before ducking his head. “It should keep healing up pretty well now.”

“But, Bucky—”

“I didn’t get everything you got, but I did get a little boost to my healing, remember?”

“I know, but—”

They’d known for a long time that Bucky’s healing had been enhanced, though not as much as Steve’s. Steve remembered very clearly the first time they managed a night alone: a two-day furlough during the war, safely private, months after he’d gotten Bucky back. After a day of sightseeing in London and walking on eggshells, they’d retreated to their rented room in London and not slept a wink. Bucky had explored Steve’s new body, and desperately grateful that Bucky still wanted him, Steve had sought out the less obvious changes in Bucky. He’d noticed that the thick white line Bucky’d gotten on his knee from falling on a broken slate in the Barnes’s tiny backyard when they were about ten had faded. Six months later, it had disappeared completely. Had they given him something since then to accelerate his healing even more?

It wasn’t just the fact of the scars that Steve found so horrifying. It was knowing that even over the last few weeks, when Bucky had gotten so much better—even _now_ —he accepted without question the idea that he would be in constant pain. It seemed like something that shouldn’t be just passed over. Steve could almost hear the voices of his VA group telling him to talk about it, but he felt completely inadequate to handle something like this. And before his eyes, Bucky’s good mood was falling apart, the lines around his eyes deepening and his mouth pressing into a hard line.

“No, Bucky, it’s wonderful.” Steve put his hand on the small of Bucky’s back and turned him. “Can I—?” Steve lifted one hand, but he wouldn’t touch without Bucky’s permission.

Bucky nodded, and Steve set his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers curling around to feel the warm skin.

“No more bandages?” Steve murmured.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked up as he shook his head, though he didn’t quite smile. “I’m supposed to wear this pressure sleeve thing sometimes—for circulation or something. But not tonight.”

Steve let his hand slide down what was left of Bucky’s left arm, careful to move slowly, gently. Then he bent his head to press a kiss on Bucky’s shoulder. He half expected Bucky to avoid his touch, but Bucky’s eyes closed, and he leaned in, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist. Steve let his fingers skim up again, all the way to Bucky’s neck. When Bucky tilted his face up for a kiss, Steve knew he had made the right decision, not forcing Bucky to talk. Bucky needed a good mood, a good night—to feel as normal as possible, not to have another thing he took for granted defined as monstrous in Steve’s eyes.

“It really is amazing.” Steve trailed his fingers along Bucky’s collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

Bucky snorted, then pulled at where he’d tucked the towel around his waist and let it fall to the floor. When he grabbed at Steve’s T-shirt, Steve let him tug it off over his head and push him down on the bed. Lying there flat on his back as Bucky crawled over him, Steve looked and looked, but he couldn’t see a trace of the Winter Soldier in Bucky’s face, in his movements, nor could he feel anything but Bucky in the touch of his hand, rough as he was tugging at Steve’s belt and buttons. The Winter Soldier still lingered—Steve wasn’t so foolish as to hope otherwise. But if some of the Soldier’s merciless determination kept pushing Bucky forward, maybe that wasn’t a completely bad thing, as long as whatever serum they’d given him did its damn job and healed Bucky’s body.

*****

Steve woke early. Bucky’s cheek was mashed against his shoulder, so he moved away carefully, rolling onto his side so that he could study Bucky’s face in the dim light. He was soundly asleep with his mouth hanging open, snoring lightly. Steve reached out and brushed his straggly hair away from his eyes—it needed cutting again—but he didn’t stir.

Steve felt good. He felt hopeful, and it had been a while since he’d been able to feel that without gnawing doubt eating away at it. Bucky was doing so well: almost his old self in the way he talked to Steve, and he hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks, or at least not one bad enough to wake Steve. Maybe it was time to push him, just a little. He used to be such a social animal. He loved going out, dancing and flirting, or joking around with the guys over a beer when they could afford it. Steve knew better than to expect that kind of ease again, but Bucky spent so much time alone, or just with Steve. And the idea of leaving the tower seemed to make him anxious.

Steve had been thinking about it a lot: the change in Bucky. It was easy to blame it on whatever had been done to him at Hydra’s hands, or on Zola’s table. But even before Steve made it to the front, Bucky’d already been changed, by the war and the things he’d done. That time in the trenches, as a regular soldier before he became part of Captain America’s team—it had dampened something in him, quieted him.

It had been too easy for Steve to ignore it. He’d been selfish. He’d known that Bucky’d been struggling but hadn’t done anything about it. Partly because he felt helpless, just as he did now, but also because he himself was so happy. Maybe it was awful to think that the happiest time of your life was spent in a war, but it was the truth. For the first time in his life, Steve had been healthy, strong, and useful. He’d had friends—an amazing team he trusted with his life, and he’d had Bucky too. The secrecy had seemed like a small price to pay for the rest of it, and they’d had wonderful private moments: a few days’ leave in London, a quiet chat on watch while the others slept, even just a careful brush of Bucky’s fingers on his.

So Steve had ignored what he couldn’t change, and he regretted it now—if he knew better where things stood for Bucky then, maybe he’d have a better understanding of what might constitute “normal” for him now. Steve had no idea how to talk about that with Bucky and wasn’t ready to push him to get professional help. He had a feeling Bucky would balk at that. But Steve thought he might be ready to take a few tentative steps out into the world.

Steve brushed his hand through Bucky’s hair again, hoping to rouse him gently. He groaned and turned his head, hiding his face in the pillow.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve slipped his hand under the covers and down over Bucky’s back. “I’m gonna go for a run.”

Bucky grunted and shifted lower in the bed, his shoulders hunched up under the blanket.

The idea of staying to snuggle up with Bucky was tempting. He’d never been cheerful in the morning, but Steve found his grumpiness endearing, and it wasn’t all that hard to charm him out of it with wandering hands and slow kisses.

But a run would do both of them good. It was early—barely even light—so it wasn’t like there’d be a lot of people out and about in this neighborhood. Steve usually worked his way over to Central Park and circled it a few times, but if they stayed near the tower, they wouldn’t attract much attention.

“Wanna come with me?”

Bucky didn’t react for a few moments, then groaned into his pillow. “S’early.”

“Yeah.” Steve paused. “I thought that would be better. The streets will be empty.”

Still bleary-eyed, Bucky lifted his head. “You want me to come with you?”

“Yeah. Unless you’re afraid you can’t keep up.”

Bucky almost smiled. But instead he let his head flop back down and pulled the covers over his head.

“Come on, Buck, you’ll feel better getting some exercise.”

A low grunt came from under the blankets.

Steve dressed quickly and slid his phone into his pocket. “You sure you don’t wanna come? Looks like a nice day.”

Bucky sighed. It wasn’t just a sleepy sigh because he didn’t want to get up. Bucky was annoyed.

“What?” Steve came and sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s that about?”

Bucky stuck his head out from under the blankets and glared. Steve stared right back, knowing if he held out long enough, Bucky would explain.

After several long moment, Bucky sighed again, exasperated this time, and sat up to face Steve. He was still frowning.

“What do you think would happen if I went with you?”

Steve couldn’t tell where Bucky was going with this. “We would spend a little time together, outside on a beautiful day instead of holed up in this box. We’d come back feeling good, eat something, clean up.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s knee and smiled. “Maybe come back to bed for a while.”

Bucky made a face. “Come on, Steve.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

“That’s a real nice little fantasy there.”

“What?”

“I know you want things to be all sweetness and light, but think about it. We can’t just have a regular life like that.”

“Bucky—”

“No, listen. Every person we pass on the street has a cell phone, with a camera. Maybe not everyone would recognize you right away, but plenty of them would. They’ll take pictures. With me right there next to you.”

Was that what Bucky was afraid of? Someone tracking him down? “Bucky, you’re safe. I won’t let anyone—”

“I’m not worried about _me_ , you idiot.” Bucky shoved Steve’s hand off his knee, jumped out of bed, and started pacing. “Have you thought about what’s going to happen when people figure out who I am?”

“Bucky—”

“No, Steve, have you? Have you thought about it?”

Steve didn’t answer. He hadn’t been letting himself think about it. Bucky was right about that.

“I’m not worried about them finding me, or trying to take me back. I don’t even care about going to jail.”

Steve opened his mouth to object, but Bucky didn’t pause for him to get a word out.

“You’re going to take the heat for this. You’ve been hiding me for months, helping me. All your friends. Think about how that’s going to look.”

It should have been obvious. Bucky’d always been protective. He wasn’t afraid for himself. He was hiding because he didn’t want to taint Steve by association.

“I don’t care about any of that,” Steve insisted. “I’ll be right there with you, no matter what.”

“I know.” Bucky stopped his pacing and huffed angrily. “You’re always there for me.”

The sarcasm dripped off Bucky’s tone. Steve’s own temper flared, but he didn’t let himself speak until he had it under control. “What does that mean?”

“Sometimes it’s harder when I’m here with you.” Bucky blurted the words out in a rush.

Steve stared.

Bucky’s eyes fell closed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, Bucky, don’t apologize. You shouldn’t apologize for how you feel.” Steve was parroting words he’d heard over and over during meetings at the VA. He was trying so hard, but he was only making it harder for Bucky? Steve tried to remember what else he’d lea¬rned from the group. Talk. Ask questions. Be specific. _You can’t change how someone else behaves or feels, but you can change your own behavior_. “Is there something I can do differently? I don’t want to—”

Bucky cut him off. “I just meant it’s hard to have you worrying about me. At least when I’m not here—”

“I’m still worried about you when you’re not here, believe me.”

Bucky made a face, and Steve kicked himself. He shouldn’t have said that.

“I know. I know, Steve, all right? But there’s only so much I can handle.”

Bucky was right: he should be focusing on what he needed himself, not worrying about making Steve feel better.

“I’m sorry.” Steve said. They kept saying that to each other.

Bucky came and sat on the bed. “You still want things the way they used to be. For _me_ to be the way I used to be. It’s not gonna happen, Steve. I’m . . .” He gestured with his hand at his opposite shoulder. “This is never going away.”

“Maybe once Tony has the new arm ready to go it’ll be better? I saw the prototype, and it’s pretty damn cool.”

Bucky made a face. “I don’t know.”

“At least come see it.”

“You don’t get it.” Bucky stood up again. Rather than pacing, he stood by the window, staring out but not seeming to see anything.

“Come on, Buck, we can—”

“Don’t.” Bucky said firmly. “Please, don’t. I don’t want a pep talk.”

Steve nodded. He didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t upset Bucky more, and he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to speak anyway.

Bucky crossed over to Steve and put his arm around him. Steve didn’t relax into the embrace—afraid he might start bawling. But Bucky murmured another apology, and his hand slid up to curve around the back of Steve’s neck, so Steve leaned into him, resting his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder.

“It is harder,” Bucky said. Steve tried to pull away, but Bucky didn’t let go, holding Steve’s head against his body. “It’s harder. Because I have to try harder to be better. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

“Okay,” Steve said, hating how small his voice sounded.

“You should go take your run.”

Steve was sure if he left, Bucky would be gone when he got back.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Bucky said quickly, as if he’d read Steve’s mind.

*****

_**Brooklyn, November 1939** _

Steve feels like he’s wasted too much of his life waiting. Waiting until the weather warmed up enough for his mother to let him go outside to play. Waiting outside doctor’s offices. Waiting to apply to art school until he can pay for it—he’s still waiting on that one. He’d probably still be waiting for the courage to tell Bucky how he felt if Bucky hadn’t been brave about it first. At least Steve doesn’t have to wait anymore for that. For months he’s been able to kiss Bucky whenever he wants when they’re at home, and crawl into bed and wrap his arms around him.

But sometimes he still has to wait. Like now: Bucky left at ten of seven to walk over to Amelia Kerrigan’s boarding house to take her out dancing. With all of Steve’s practice waiting, he should probably be better at it. He tries not to watch the clock, but its hands drag around the face. It’s after ten now, and the dance hall is open late on Saturdays. It could be hours yet before Bucky gets home, so he might as well go to bed.

It’s a cold night and getting windy, so he pulls one of Bucky’s sweaters on over his pajamas before getting under the covers. He sits on Bucky’s side of the bed to be closer to the lamp and grabs his sketchbook but has no idea what to draw.

His eyes wander around the room. If he’s not inspired, he can at least practice: he’ll give himself an assignment. His gaze pauses on the dresser drawers, but while capturing the cracked lacquer and worn knobs would require meticulous attention, it wouldn’t be difficult. There are a half-dozen books on top of the dresser, due back at the library in a few days. They’re stacked unevenly, casting angled shadows, and the deckled pages look oddly furry in the dim light. Getting the shading right would be a challenge.

Forty-five minutes pass before Steve looks at the clock again. He decides he’ll work until midnight, then turn out the light and go to sleep whether Bucky’s home or not. Only a short while after that, however, Steve hears Bucky’s key in the door. He continues with his sketching, pretending to be more absorbed than he actually is.

“Hi,” Bucky says from the doorway.

Steve looks up from his sketchbook. “Hi.”

Bucky grins at him, and Steve can’t help but smile back. Then Bucky crosses the room, perching in the narrow space next to Steve’s leg to lean in and give him a kiss. He smells of wintry air, cigarette smoke, and perfume. Bucky reads Steve’s mind—or maybe sees his nose wrinkle—because when he pulls away, he says, “I’m gonna take a shower.” He glances at the paper on Steve’s lap, then over his shoulder at the stack of books on the dresser. “Looking pretty good.”

He returns from the bathroom pink-cheeked and smiling. It looks like he even shaved again. He dumps his dirty clothes on the floor, pulls off his bathrobe, drapes it over the footboard, and slips into bed without even putting his pajamas on, nudging Steve over to his side by the wall. As he presses close, his knees awkwardly bump Steve’s legs, and his cold feet seek out Steve’s ankles.

“Cut it out! Your toes are freezing!”

Bucky laughs. “I thought you could warm me up for a change.” He takes the sketchpad out of Steve’s hands, sets it carefully on the table by the bed, and turns back to pull Steve close. He looks down at Steve, and it’s obvious he’s hoping for a kiss—probably for more than that too.

Steve’s body sure is ready. Seeing Bucky naked—even for just a second—and having him pressed close: it’s more than enough to get Steve going. But he always feels funny about fooling around on the nights when Bucky’s been out with a girl. He tilts his face down, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin, and snuggles closer. “Well, c’mere then, let me warm you up.”

When Bucky sighs, Steve knows he’s seen right through him. “You don’t like it when I go on dates.”

It isn’t a question, so Steve doesn’t answer. Bucky’s arms tighten around him.

“It doesn’t mean anything. You know that. None of those dames mean a thing to me.”

“I know.” Steve’s voice is muffled against Bucky’s chest.

“I only do it to keep us safe, to keep people from wondering.”

“I know,” Steve repeats.

“I keep taking girls out, maybe some think I’m kind of a tomcat. But we keep working hard, we go to church and visit my parents and still help Mrs. Reilly get her groceries up the stairs. So everyone thinks we’re just a couple of nice boys trying to get ahead before we settle down.”

Steve knows that isn’t what people really think. At least not about him. Everyone in the neighborhood is always kind, but underneath their smiles is pity. And amazement that he’s managed to live so long. It probably wouldn’t occur to anyone that he might be queer—to them, he would always be a kid. They sure thought a lot of Bucky though, if only because ‘he takes such good care of the Rogers boy since his mother passed.’

Steve sighed.

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” Bucky says. “I won’t go out anymore. We’ll just be even more careful, that’s all.”

Bucky means it. Steve knows that, but he feels Bucky’s eyes on him. There’s no way Bucky really wants to stop. He likes flirting and dancing, and he likes going out.

“No, I don’t really mind,” Steve says. “And like you said, it makes sense. Just so people don’t wonder.”

*****

Steve pushed himself on his run, hoping exhaustion would ease the worry and guilt—would lessen the sting of Bucky’s words: _it’s harder when I’m here with you_.

Bucky was hard at work in the kitchen when Steve got back. The smell of bacon was in the air, a pan of eggs sizzled on the stove, and Bucky was sliding a pan of biscuits into the oven.

“Wow,” Steve said.

Bucky looked up, fighting a smile. Cooking one-handed was still a challenge, and he was obviously proud of what he’d managed but trying to act like it was no big deal.

“This looks great, Buck, and I’m starving.” Steve went to the stove and grabbed a piece of bacon off the plate keeping warm on the stovetop.

Bucky’s smile grew, but he was quiet and pensive as they ate breakfast. Steve resisted the urge to ask what he was thinking about. Steve offered to clean up the kitchen afterward, but Bucky waved him away. “Go take a shower. I’ve got it.”

When Steve emerged from the bathroom, Bucky was struggling to put a fitted sheet on the mattress. The old set was in a rumpled pile on the floor.

“Hey,” Steve said. “Need a—”

He broke off when he realized what had almost slipped out, but Bucky just gave him a wry smile and said it for him: “Need a hand?”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, it had to happen sooner or later,” Bucky said. He managed to get the elastic tucked over the final corner and grabbed the top sheet from the dresser.

Steve noticed that he ignored the offer of help. “You know, I sleep in this bed too. And you already made breakfast and washed the dishes. I can do some stuff around here.”

“I know,” Bucky said as he worked on spreading the sheet over the bed.

“It’ll take two seconds if we work together.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened, but then he sighed and quietly said “Okay.”

It was such a small, stupid thing, but Steve felt elated that Bucky accepted help for once. It really was much easier to do it with one of them on each side of the bed. By the time they were done, Bucky’s face had lost its sourness, and he was eyeing Steve’s towel.

“We just changed the sheets,” Steve pointed out. But it wasn’t really an objection.

“So we can change ‘em again,” Bucky said, yanking the towel away and shoving Steve onto the bed. “It’ll take two seconds if we work together.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s T-shirt, tugging so that he tumbled down on top of him. “I hope it takes a little longer than that.”

Bucky snorted. “You’re hilarious.”

*****

“Hey, Bucky?” Steve’s stomach was growling. He put down his book and pulled himself out of his comfortable slouch on the sofa. Bucky was somewhere in the apartment, but Steve hadn’t seen him all afternoon.

“What do you want for dinner?” Steve called. As he made his way down the hall, he did a mental reconnaissance of the refrigerator. “We could heat up the leftover Chinese. Or if you’re not in the mood for that we could—” He broke off as he got to the bedroom door and found Bucky stuffing a pair of jeans into a duffel bag.

“You’re leaving?” It popped out before Steve could stop himself.

Bucky looked up, his expression blank.

Steve had been so sure they’d regained their balance after the morning’s argument, but now Bucky was leaving. He waited for Bucky to say something. Anything.

But finally the silence got to Steve, and he said, “You’re supposed to see Tony tomorrow. For a fitting. It’s—”

Bucky cut him off. “I already told him I can’t make it.”

“Do you have to go now?” Steve put a tentative hand on Bucky’s arm. “Can’t it wait till morning?” He hoped that if he could convince Bucky to stay the night, he would settle down and lose the urge to run.

Bucky just shook his head and zipped his bag closed.

“Are you sure? About the prosthetic?” Steve could see Bucky was getting annoyed, and he was feeling irritated himself, but he couldn’t seem to shut up. “Tony’s gone to all this trouble.”

Bucky scowled. “Are you kidding me?”

“Sorry.” Suddenly Steve realized what he was doing: Bucky arguing, annoyed at him but _here_ , was better than Bucky running away. “I just—”

Bucky interrupted him. “You really aren’t getting it.” He sounded surprisingly calm and patient, though he was still glaring. “I know you want me to do it. I know you want everything fixed.”

“I don’t—”

“C’mon, Steve. You say you want me to make my own choices. Well, I choose this.” Bucky raised the stump of his left arm. “If I get to choose, I choose to be what I am. What I am right now. Just this. Even if I’m less than I was before.”

“Buck—” A thousand reassuring words threatened to rush out of Steve’s mouth, but he dammed them up when Bucky shook his head.

Bucky sighed. “For a long time, I was afraid I could never be good enough again. That if I couldn’t get back to being the man I was, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

“Bucky—”

“You said you don’t expect that, but you know, even if I could grow a whole new arm, flesh and blood, good as new, it wouldn’t fix everything.”

“I know that.”

Bucky looked Steve dead in the eye.

“I do,” Steve insisted.

“Then you gotta stop nagging me about the damn arm.”

Steve didn’t want to give in, which was a clear indication that Bucky was right: part of Steve was indeed still holding out hope that a new prosthetic would make a difference. He forced himself to speak. “Okay.”

Bucky hadn’t looked away—it seemed like he hadn’t even blinked. “I’m not saying I’ll never do it. But I just got them out of my body. I need to make sure they’re out of my head before I can think about anything else.” Bucky’s eyes were sad, but there was a challenge in them too. He stood ramrod-straight, stiff and defiant. Then he rolled his eyes. “C’mere.” He dumped his bag onto the floor at his feet. “Just come here.”

Steve crossed the room but hesitated before touching Bucky. He pulled Steve close for a kiss, then tucked his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “It’s not like I want to go. I just—I have to.”

“Why? Why do you have to go?”

Bucky pulled away and grabbed for his bag. “I can’t explain.”

“Wait, Buck, please. Why do you have to go? If you don’t want to?”

Bucky shoved past Steve, and he was halfway down the hall before Steve could get his own feet moving.

“Are you punishing yourself?” Steve called after him. “Is that why you don’t want to get a new prosthetic?”

Bucky let out a frustrated groan and spun around to face Steve. “No, it’s not that simple. I—”

He looked miserable. He wasn’t ready to talk about this, and he wasn’t going to stay, no matter what Steve said. So Steve decided to pick his battles.

“Okay,” Steve said. “You don’t have to explain.” He could pretend he was okay with Bucky leaving. But he didn’t want to be left alone yet again, worrying. The group at the VA had agreed that it was reasonable to want some information, however vague, about how long Bucky would be gone. Or to ask him to check in. Bucky had his own phone now, of course, but Steve knew he wouldn’t use it unless pushed. “It’s okay. But will you do me one favor?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He wasn’t quite glaring now, though his eyes were wary.

“Will you call me? Just to let me know everything’s okay?” Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on Bucky’s prosthetic. Without it, he seemed so vulnerable, and the idea of him going out alone into the world. . . . Steve would have trouble sleeping. “Or text me. You don’t even have to talk if—” Steve stopped, hating the thought that Bucky didn’t want to talk to him.

Bucky pulled away. “I’ll try.”

*****

Steve woke early. That was nothing unusual. More than two weeks had gone by without a word from Bucky. The silence around him was unbearable, and all the space in the bed—it made it impossible to sleep. Sometimes he stayed in bed for a while, trying to drift off again, though it never worked. Most of the time he dragged himself out of bed and hoped that _this_ would be the day when Bucky would send a message or show up out of the blue, tired and contrite. Then every morning, Steve would put on sweats and try to outrun his thoughts.

He set out with no direction in mind, moving along at a pretty good clip. It was early yet—barely light—so other pedestrians were few and far between. Starting off in a jog, he let his thoughts run back to Bucky.

He’d stayed for such a long time making plans to get the arm off. It was true that he’d gone AWOL for a week before the procedure, but since then he’d seemed content. He talked more, laughed more. Steve had let himself relax, finally, so maybe it had hit him harder when Bucky left. At least he’d said goodbye this time.

Steve lost track of how many times he circled the park. He wasn’t tired but suddenly felt desperately thirsty. He should have brought a water bottle along. He spied a convenience store across the street and slowed to a trot until it was safe to cross. It wasn’t until he’d grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and was approaching the counter that he realized he had no cash, or even a card. As he was turning back to put the drink away in the cooler, the clerk spoke up.

“Excuse me, sir?”

The moment Steve looked at the clerk, he knew he’d already been recognized. “Yeah?”

“Oh my God, you _are_ Steve Rogers.”

Steve forced a smile and nodded.

“Oh, wow. Captain America, in my store.” The guy slapped both hands down on the counter. “Can I take a picture? Do you mind?”

He was already stuffing his hand into the pocket of his jeans for his phone, and Steve wanted to refuse, but it would seem impolite, and at least the guy had asked. Some people just snapped a dozen photos without even meeting Steve’s eye, as if it didn’t occur to them that he might object or even that he could see them.

“Yeah, sure.”

The guy’s grin grew wider, and he jogged around the end of the counter to stand next to Steve.

“I’m kind of a mess,” Steve said when the guy moved in close. “I’ve been running.”

“Nah, you’re cool.” The clerk put one arm around Steve and stretched the other one out, holding his camera. Steve saw his own stiff smile in the screen and tried to relax, but the guy didn’t seem to notice. After he’d taken a few pictures, he took a bouncing step away and reached out to take the Gatorade from Steve. “Let me ring that up for you.”

“Actually, I was about to put it back. I realized I don’t have my wallet.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t even know what I was thinking. It’s on me.”

“I couldn’t—”

“No, come on, after everything you’ve done for us? It’s the least I can do. It’s kind of ridiculous, really.” He slid the bottle across the counter toward Steve. “Please.”

Steve hesitated.

“Hey,” the clerk said. “I get to tell people I bought Captain America a drink.”

“Okay, thanks.” Steve picked up the bottle. “Thanks a lot.”

The guy was still smiling as Steve walked out. He jogged back to the park path before he twisted open the cap and gulped down half the bottle. It sat heavy in his empty belly.

Steve made a mental note to send a few bucks to the store later, then immediately changed his mind. The guy was trying to be gracious. Steve should learn to simply be grateful when people were kind. It was just that he couldn’t shake what Bucky’d said about not wanting to have his picture taken if he went out with Steve. It was naive to think they could go out without being recognized, and the realization made Steve feel trapped. They could never have a normal life.

Steve took another lap around the park, but his restlessness wasn’t fading. He headed back to the tower instead, making a beeline for the gym, pausing only to rush through wrapping his hands before laying into the heavy bag.

It was a challenge to put just enough power behind each punch to give himself a workout but not enough to wreck the bag, though there were several extras in the corner. Working with the heavy bag felt better than running—having that resistance to aim at. The impact of his knuckles against the solid weight of it drove away all thought until his head was empty. Warmth spread through the muscles of his shoulders and down his back, melting away the tension there.

He stopped only when he’d convinced himself that he had no hope that Bucky would be waiting for him when he went upstairs. But even so, as he made his way to the bathroom, he glanced into the kitchen and into the second bedroom too, though Bucky hadn’t slept in the extra room once in the tower apartment.

Steve’s phone rang while he was in the shower. He rushed to finish and dashed out to grab the phone off the dresser with water still dripping down his legs. But it wasn’t Bucky.

There was a message from Sharon. Even before he listened, he knew right away why she was calling. For just a split second, he thought about pretending he hadn’t gotten the message. It would have been inexcusably rude, but the temptation to put off her news, even for just a little while, was strong. He returned to the bathroom to shave, dressed slowly, and finally made himself sit down and call her back.

“Steve,” she said. “It’s Aunt Peggy.” Her next words surprised him. “She’s asking for you.” Steve had feared that she was already gone.

He hated the idea of not being there when Bucky came back to the apartment but pushed the worry away: if Bucky didn’t stay in touch, it wasn’t Steve’s fault. The bustle of packing and buying plane tickets made it easier for a while. It wasn’t until he was buckled in his seat as the plane pulled away from the gate that he started wondering which would be worse: arriving too late or figuring out a way to say goodbye.

But Peggy, as always, surprised them all. When Steve arrived, she was sitting up in her bed. She smiled when she caught sight of him, reached out one hand, and said, “Reports of my impending death have been greatly exaggerated.”

Steve managed to choke out her name, but he couldn’t say anything else. She shook her head—exasperated but not unkind—and tilted her face up so that he could kiss her cheek. It wasn’t until he sat down in the chair next to her bed that he noticed the woman standing by the window. He recognized her from photographs as one of Peggy’s daughters. The awkwardness of their introduction was interrupted by the arrival of Peggy’s doctor, which made Steve feel even more like an intruder.

“I’ll come back in a little while,” he whispered as he kissed Peggy goodbye.

She squeezed his hand in an iron grip. “You’d better.”

“I’ll get some lunch. I’m starving.”

“I expect a full mission report when you get back.”

Steve pulled away in surprise, and Peggy explained: “Sam has been keeping me updated.”

Steve kissed her papery cheek again and slipped out of the room. As he rode the elevator down to the lobby, he pulled out his phone to text Sam. _Been going behind my back to the boss?_

The answer came immediately. _What’s that?_

 _I’m here to see Peggy_ , Steve typed. _Little health scare but everything OK now. But she told me you’ve been helping her keep tabs on me._

 _You’re here?_ Sam answered. _Got time to get together? Dinner?_

 _How about lunch?_ Steve sent. _I know it’s late notice._

_Where are you? I can meet you in twenty._

Sam sent him a link to a restaurant only a couple of blocks away, and as Steve strolled down the street he suddenly noticed that winter was over. Even here in the city, the air had the damp, earthy smell of spring rain, and the few straggly trees growing out of the pavement had tiny pale leaves on their branches. It couldn’t be the difference in latitude—DC wasn’t all that far south. He’d just been walking around in his own world.

The restaurant was a copy of the kind of places where the Commandos drank during the war: lots of brass and wood paneling, and dark even in the daytime. Steve was seated in a booth near the back—nice and quiet. The waitress’s eyes widened when she saw him, but she didn’t talk about it. She just asked him for his drink order, then left him alone with his beer while he waited for Sam. He greeted Steve with a hug, asking about Peggy before he even sat down.

“She’s fine,” Steve said. “She was sharp as a tack today.” He gave Sam a pointed look. “But you’ve been talking to her behind my back?”

“Hey, I just want an excuse to talk to the lady. I’m thinking about asking her to marry me.” The waitress brought Sam’s drink, and he distractedly thanked her before turning back to Steve. “She’s doing okay though? False alarm?”

“Yeah, it seems like it. She was smiling at me, giving me a hard time.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam said with a laugh. “And how are things in New York?”

“Not bad,” Steve said. “For a while they were really good. Getting the—” Steve broke off to glance around, but no one was in earshot. “Getting the prosthetic off really helped, I think. He’s more himself. He’s talking more—speaking up for himself and making decisions. I can see a real difference.”

“That’s great,” Sam said. “That sounds great.”

“But then he split again.”

Sam didn’t look surprised. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded. “It’s been a couple of weeks this time.”

Sam let out a noncommittal hum, just enough to let Steve know he was listening.

“I just wish he would keep in touch,” Steve said. “You asked me about this—if it’s a deal breaker. And it’s not.”

Sam didn’t interrupt, but the corner of his mouth tightened just a touch.

“It’s not.” Steve said again.

“Hey.” Sam held up one hand. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“I just hate not knowing where he is.”

“Remember what the group talked about?” Sam said. “Maybe you—”

“I did. I did talk to him about it. I said he didn’t even have to call. He could text me.”

“Hold that thought,” Sam said. He looked up and smiled as the waitress appeared at Steve’s elbow. Steve waited until she’d taken their order and returned to the kitchen before bringing up Bucky again.

“I kept thinking once he felt better, once he felt safer, and more himself, he wouldn’t need to leave like this.”

“Maybe he won’t,” Sam said. “Maybe he’s just not there yet.”

That was hard to hear. It reminded Steve of all the reasons he’d fixated on the prosthesis—there was too much he couldn’t do anything about. Sam was probably right though. When it came to Bucky, maybe Steve was too optimistic for his own good.

“But it sounds like things are progressing,” Sam said.

“Yeah.” It was hard to focus on the positive when he was alone for so long. “Yeah, things are good. He’s better.” Steve shook his head. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s the group?”

Sam smiled. “They ask about you. You should come by.”

“Maybe I will. I think I’ll stay for a few days. I owe Peggy a good visit.”

“Darren’s wedding’s coming up. I bet he’d love it if you’d come.”

Steve laughed. “Nah, I don’t want to intrude. But I’m glad he worked things out.” He took a sip of his beer, casting around for something to talk about that wasn’t all about him. “How’s the family?”

That made Sam grin. “My parents went on a cruise.”

“Yeah?”

“I think Mom wants to move onto the ship and stay there forever.”

Steve laughed. “And your dad?”

Sam made a face and shrugged. “He would probably be okay with that, as long as he could get the all-you-can-eat-shrimp.”

*****

Peggy’s daughter was still with her when Steve returned, but this time she seemed glad to see Steve. “Would you mind staying for a while?” she said. “I’ve been here two days straight.”

“I don’t mind one bit. I’d like to stay.” Steve looked over her shoulder and saw Peggy’s mischievous grin.

“I’ll just get something to eat and jump in the shower. It won’t be very long.”

“It’s fine. Take as long as you need.”

Once she was gone, Peggy sighed. “She always was a little mother, fussing over her brother and sister. Now she fusses over me.”

“It’s because she cares about you.”

“Oh, I know. But she’s using it as an excuse not to live her own life. She isn’t doing well with retirement.” Peggy grabbed Steve’s hand. “But let’s not talk about her. I want to know how you’re doing, and I want to hear about our friend.”

“First, how are you feeling?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a tough old thing.” She gave his hand a shake. “Now tell me about Barnes.” She said in a conspiratorial whisper, though when Steve glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the door was firmly shut.

“He’s doing better,” Steve said, then paused. He’d always felt disloyal talking about Bucky with Peggy. And vice versa, for that matter. But she was watching Steve with hopeful concern, and Steve found that it was a comfort to tell her more. “He’s much better. It’s hard to believe. For so long, he barely talked, and you know how good he always was with words.”

“He was a charmer, all right,” Peggy said with a squeeze of Steve’s hand.

“But that’s better now. He’s still quieter. But better. He even teases me sometimes.” Steve realized he was smiling. “Did Sam tell you we got the arm off?”

“He did,” Peggy said. “I rather wish I’d had a chance to see it, but I completely understand his wanting it off.”

Peggy could certainly imagine every aspect of the arm’s capabilities, its terrible beauty, though Steve had made certain she never found out the extent of his own injuries at the hands of the Winter Soldier.

“There’s a long way to go, I think,” Steve said. “He’s still hiding, still blaming himself.”

Peggy was nodding.

“But still, things are good. I feel like I’ve got him back.”

Peggy tilted her head to one side, studying Steve’s face. “Even taking your optimism into account, it sounds like all’s well.”

“My optimism?”

“Maybe that’s not the word for it. More like you want me think everything’s going swimmingly so that I don’t worry about you.”

“Maybe. But you tell me not to worry either.”

“True.” Peggy reached for her water. After she’d taken a sip, she spun the glass in her hands. “I do worry less though, knowing Barnes has come back to you. You’re not the kind of man who should be alone.”

Steve felt the affectionate smile on his face turn stilted and fixed.

“He’s always understood that. I don’t think I did—not back then. I only saw what I wanted to see. Your strength, even before the serum. I so wanted you to be the one. But he really knew you.”

“Peggy—”

“He came to talk to me once. Did you know that?”

Steve shook his head, unable to speak.

“We were in London. He made me promise to look after you,” Peggy explained. “If anything ever happened to him. I didn’t really take it seriously at the time. I agreed, of course, but I had no idea what he was on about until he was gone, and you were—”

Steve stood up—he couldn’t keep still—and moved to the window, though he couldn’t see much with the sheer curtains and the darkening sky outside.

“No, don’t—” Peggy reached out with one hand. “Please come back, Steve. It’s all right. I do understand.”

He returned to his chair and let Peggy take his hand. She smiled and pulled him closer until she could rest her other hand on his cheek. “As if anyone could know you as he does and not love you.”

*****

The cool evening air was a relief after Peggy’s stuffy room. Steve looked up and down the block, wondering how far it was to the nearest Metro station. He’d always driven when he’d visited Peggy, but that morning he’d taken a cab straight from Reagan. Just as he turned back to ask the girl at the reception desk for directions, he caught sight of a dark-haired slouching figure on the corner.

_Bucky._

Steve’s feet were moving instantly, carrying him across the street and over the sidewalk, and he threw himself into Bucky’s arms. He returned the hug, holding Steve tight. Once Steve got over his surprise, he pulled away to ask, “What are you doing here, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged.

“How did you know?” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged again. “Sam.”

Steve hugged him again. Then his brain caught up. “Wait, Sam told you? You’re gone two weeks and I don’t hear a peep out of you, but you’re talking to Sam?”

“No.” Bucky ducked his head, his eyes downcast. “It’s—” Bucky shook his head. “He just knows how to get me a message if it’s important.”

“But—”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Bucky said, cutting Steve off by grabbing his arm. “This isn’t a good place to talk. Follow me.”

“Follow you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He started walking, not rushing but setting a brisk pace. Steve sighed but didn’t argue. He knew that it was wise to be cautious, but it felt like overkill to walk separately. There was a young couple getting out of their car a block away and a guy walking his dog across the street, but they were the only people in sight. No one was paying any attention. At the station, Bucky stepped off the bottom of the escalator just as Steve got to the top, and by the time he reached the platform level, Bucky had disappeared. When the train pulled into the station, he emerged from the shadows at the far end of the platform and slipped into the same compartment where Steve had found a seat but stayed away, slouching into a spot by the door. He wore a vacant stare, though Steve had no doubt he was aware of every person in the train car. He was good at being invisible, right in plain sight. No one would look twice at him.

When they reached their stop, Steve stood before the doors had opened and made his way to Bucky’s end of the car. He let his elbow brush against Bucky’s arm, but his expression didn’t change in the slightest. Only a few other people got off with them, so Steve thought they could relax. But Bucky quickly moved ahead of him on the escalator, climbing the steps two at a time instead of standing and waiting for it to carry him up.

Steve looked around for Bucky up on the street. He was nowhere in sight. Then, as Steve entered the vestibule of the apartment building, he saw Bucky slip into the stairwell. They met at the door of Steve’s apartment.

“You really think we need all the cloak and dagger stuff?” Steve dug in his pocket for his keys. “In this neighborhood? I’m not worried.”

“Yeah, right.” Bucky closed the door behind them and locked it. “This coming from the guy who wanted me to go jogging around the block, right in the middle of Manhattan.”

After having the apartment locked up and empty for several weeks, the air smelled vaguely musty. Still, it was a relief to fall onto the couch. Steve was thirsty, but going to the kitchen for a glass of water seemed like too much effort, especially once Bucky came to sit beside him. Steve leaned hard against his shoulder.

Bucky’s voice came out raspy when he spoke. “How is she?”

“She’s better.” Steve shrugged. “When Sharon called, I was afraid it was . . . but Peggy’s strong.”

Bucky nodded and put his arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve sighed and let his head fall back.

“You should have been with her,” Bucky said. “Had a long life with her.”

“What?” Steve was immediately, blindingly angry. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

It wasn’t that his anger was misplaced, but Steve dreaded lifting his head to see Bucky’s hurt expression. He hated when Bucky shrank away from him. But when Steve finally looked up, Bucky was almost grinning.

“Bucky, why are you smiling?”

The smile disappeared. “Sorry.”

“No, what—?”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Bucky said. “I kinda like it when you lose your temper, you know. You get all riled up.”

At least Bucky’s joking helped diffuse the situation—Steve had to quit treating Bucky like he was fragile.

He let his head fall back onto Bucky’s arm. “It’s just been a hell of a day.” Bucky rubbed Steve’s shoulder, and Steve pressed closer. “I probably should make you explain that—the stuff about Peggy. The group keeps telling me to make you talk about stuff, but I think I’m too damned tired.”

“The group?”

“Yeah.” Steve hesitated. “Sam’s group at the VA. I went to a few meetings.”

Bucky’s eyebrows went up.

“Sam kept bugging me about it, and I thought it might be good. I told them about you—nothing specific. Nothing dangerous, but—” Steve broke off when Bucky shifted, but he was just moving to put his arm around Steve’s shoulders again. “It helped a little. They kept pushing me to talk to you about stuff.”

They should have been talking all along—when they started, after the serum, when Peggy came along, and especially now—all of it just got more complicated because he and Bucky didn’t talk about it.

“You’re right,” Bucky said. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “It does help to talk. But not all the time.” Steve’s stomach rumbled, and Bucky frowned. “Like now. I think dinner is more important than talking.” He nudged at Steve until he sat up. “You gotta be starving.”

“I had lunch out with Sam.”

“You still gotta eat.” Bucky stood up and headed for the kitchen.

“I guess we could call for delivery.”

“No, I took care of dinner.”

“You did?” Steve pulled himself off the couch and followed Bucky into the kitchen.

He’d gotten a couple of steaks and potatoes, and even bread and a dozen eggs for breakfast. It was oddly pleasing to think of him shopping for supplies while Steve was busy with Peggy. Steve sorted through the slightly frostbitten bags of vegetables in the freezer while Bucky scrubbed off the potatoes at the sink.

“Can you do the potatoes in the microwave like you do?” Bucky asked. “It takes forever in the oven.”

“Sure. We have Brussels sprouts and peas.”

Bucky made a face. “Definitely peas.”

Steve stuck the bags back in the freezer. “I’ll put the potatoes in first though.”

Once dinner was ready, they sat side by side on stools at the counter. Steve was grinning. He couldn’t help it. “Thanks for coming, Buck.”

Bucky nodded with a sheepish smile. “Can’t meet you every day like that.”

“It was nice though. Walking out and seeing you there. I wish—” He cut himself off.

“I know.” Bucky lifted a forkful of peas, but stopped before it got to his mouth. “Sam said he’s been talking to Romanov. They’re trying to figure out if they can make me a deal.”

Hope and worry roiled in Steve’s gut. “What kind of deal?”

“I don’t know. Cooperate any way I can, I guess. Give them anything they want, everything I can remember.”

“You think you have anything still useful?”

Bucky gave an exaggerated shrug. “There’s also what Stark said about them wanting my blood. Maybe if I give them that too—” He broke off when he saw Steve’s expression. “What?”

“I don’t like the idea of them trying for another supersoldier program.”

Bucky grinned slyly. “Well, Stark did say that they want to compare my blood with yours. Just cause _I_ give them samples, doesn’t mean _you_ have to.”

“But they’ve got it already.”

“Well, it’s all gone now.” Bucky stuck his fork into his mouth then continued with his mouth full of peas. “Stark said his dad had the last vial of it, and Peggy got that one.”

That was surprising. “What did she do with it?”

Bucky shrugged.

“But they’ve probably got more,” Steve said. “Before I woke up they must have taken some.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said. “Fury sounds like a cagey bastard, but if they’ve got it, Romanov doesn’t know about it, and Stark couldn’t find anything about it either.”

“Maybe Peggy knows something,” Steve said. “I could ask.”

Bucky shrugged again. “Couldn’t hurt.” He chewed a few more bites of his steak, then nudged Steve’s knee under the counter. “But even if they offer some kind of deal, you gotta be realistic.”

Steve looked at him. “I am.”

“No, you’re—” Bucky paused. “Even if the brass and the g-men agree not to lock me up, doesn’t mean regular folks are ready to see me out in the world. With you.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what they need to see.”

Bucky’s expression was pained. “You’re Captain America. That still means something. People are going to be upset that you helped me and even more upset if they find out what we are to each other.”

“We gotta stop being afraid sometime, don’t we? We shouldn’t be afraid. Things are different. Maybe people need to see us standing up without—”

“Steve.”

“No, c’mon, it was different during the war. I’m not sure I can be a symbol like that anymore. I don’t think this is a time for flag waving and apple pie. America has done a lot to be ashamed of—trying to nudge history in a certain direction. You talk about Captain America still meaning something, but—”

“ _Steve_.”

“—think about it. Maybe the Winter Soldier is a better symbol now, more the way we need to be thinking, as a country. To see someone that’s moving away from their past, trying to do something different?”

Bucky let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay. Okay, I get it. But even if they figure something out, I’d need to think about it. Think about it a lot.”

“Of course,” Steve said. “Of course.”

They washed the dishes standing shoulder to shoulder at the sink. Then Bucky pulled Steve into a hug. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Bed?” Steve looked at the clock on the stove. “It’s not even eight.”

“So what?” Bucky said. “You got somewhere to be? Besides, I didn’t say _sleep_.”

“Oh.” Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s ribs. “I guess that’s different.”

Steve leaned in for a kiss, but Bucky sidled away. “I want a shower first,” he said. He turned the corner and disappeared, then stuck his head back around the corner to stare at Steve. “You coming?”

Bucky was all business at first, handing Steve the shampoo bottle and then a clean washcloth, but as Steve finished washing up, Bucky pressed close, gliding his hand over the soap on his skin. Steve let Bucky nudge him under the spray to rinse off, relishing the gentle brush of Bucky’s fingers over his shoulders and down his back. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the hot water, and Bucky pressed his lips to his throat.

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulled him in for a slow kiss, exploring his mouth with his tongue. Bucky drew away with a slight smile, then fell to his knees and wrapped his hand firmly around Steve’s dick. After a couple of strokes, he looked up from under his eyelids and leaned in to give the slit a slow swipe with his tongue. His eyes closed as he opened his mouth to take Steve in, but just the tip, sucking gently a few times before drawing back to work Steve’s cock again with his fingers. Steve groaned.

“Good?” Bucky asked.

“You know—”

The words choked in his throat when Bucky surged forward, taking Steve deep in his mouth. He was relentless, bobbing his head up and down, his tongue working, bringing Steve to the edge in moments.

He choked out Bucky’s name—he didn’t want it to be over so quick—but Bucky grabbed his ass, fingers digging into flesh, encouraging him to move. Steve didn’t resist, his hips twitching forward to fuck into Bucky’s warm wet mouth until he came with a moan, Bucky’s hand still urging him on. Steve braced one hand on the tiled wall as Bucky sucked harder, drawing out another rush of pleasure and another strangled groan.

Bucky pulled off, swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, then grinned up at Steve. When he climbed to his feet, his dick was jutting out. Steve reached for it, but Bucky shoved his hands away. “That was just to get things started. Take the edge off.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve was still breathless. “You got a plan?”

“Yeah. I know how much you like a good plan.”

“I do,” Steve said.

After one last kiss under the warm spray, Bucky reached around Steve to shut off the water. The whole bathroom was steamy, so there wasn’t a cool draft of air when Bucky slid the door open.

Bucky tossed a towel over Steve’s head to rub at his hair, then let it fall to Steve’s shoulders, wrapped around the back of his neck, and grabbed both ends to tug Steve close for a kiss. Feeling pleasantly muddled, Steve swiped at himself with the towel and let Bucky manhandle him out of the shower stall and into bed, still damp in the crevices behind his knees and under his arms.

Steve settled on his back and Bucky crawled onto the mattress to hover over him for a lingering kiss, which Steve inadvertently interrupted with a jaw-splitting yawn.

“You too tired?”

“Are you kidding?” Steve said. “I want to hear this plan of yours.” But he had to stifle another yawn.

Bucky moved to one side to lie down next to Steve, giving him unhurried kisses as he trailed his fingers over his chest and stomach. Steve’s dick was already hardening again, but Bucky’s hand moved to one side, tracing a path down Steve’s right leg, hooking under his knee, and pulling up until his leg was bent, his foot flat on the bed. Then Bucky slid his hand down Steve’s inner thigh, no teasing—fingers shoving between his cheeks to rub his asshole.

Steve shifted on the mattress, moving his legs farther apart. “I like this plan of yours.”

“Yeah?” After another slow kiss, Bucky lifted his head and gave Steve a lazy smile. “I had a feeling you would.” Bucky’s fingers moved in leisurely circles as he kissed him. Then Bucky pulled away, twisting his torso awkwardly to reach back and retrieve the bottle from the drawer in the nightstand. He knelt between Steve’s legs, popping open the cap, and his slick fingers returned to their slow circling. Steve moved restlessly, wanting more, and Bucky finally took pity, sliding two fingers inside him.

Steve sighed in relief shifting his hips to meet Bucky’s hand, but Bucky moved up the bed, leaning down hard to hold Steve’s body still with his own. Steve missed the hard grip of his other hand. He would be grabbing Steve’s hip to slow him down if he could, Steve was sure. But to have just Bucky’s warm skin—no metal, no almost-silent whir of gears—it was better.

“I want you ready for me,” Bucky whispered, his breath tickling Steve’s ear.

“I’m ready,” Steve said. “I’m— _please_.”

Bucky chuckled. “Nuh-uh. I want you so ready for me I can slide right in.”

The drag of his fingers was maddeningly slow, and Steve struggled to keep still.

Bucky pulled his hand away, and Steve heard a snap as Bucky reopened the bottle of lubricant. _Finally_ , Steve thought. But when Bucky repositioned himself between Steve’s legs, he didn’t press close with his hips. Instead, he pushed his fingers in again. Steve was about to protest, but then Bucky added another finger, stretching Steve a little further.

“Oh, that’s good,” Steve moaned. “God, that’s good.”

“Yeah.” Bucky pressed his face against Steve’s chest.

Steve closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. He could easily come just from this, but he wanted Bucky inside him.

Bucky’s fingers twisted and scissored, pushing deeper, and Steve couldn’t stand it any longer. He wriggled away and rolled over, canting his hips in shameless invitation, _waiting_. Usually Bucky gave in when Steve was desperate like this, but now he traced a teasing trail along the crack of Steve’s ass a couple of times with his slick fingers.

“ _Bucky_.”

It came out in a whine, and Bucky laughed again. “You sure you’re ready?”

Steve pushed up with his hands, looking back over his shoulder, and was relieved to see Bucky finally ready to climb on top of him. He pressed close, leaning on Steve awkwardly as lined himself up, but then he pulled his hand from between their bodies, propped himself up, and thrust forward with his hips. He slid right into Steve—not even the slightest twinge of pain, just a perfect hot gliding pleasure. Steve collapsed flat on the bed, groaning as Bucky moved slowly in and out.

“Steve.” Bucky already sounded breathless. “I want you on your knees. Will you—?”

Bucky stilled, and Steve thought he might pull out, so he shoved himself up on all fours, lifting Bucky. Bucky let out a surprised grunt, but he steadied himself with a hand on Steve’s hip. His knee nudged between Steve’s legs, spreading them wider apart on the mattress, then he started moving again, slow and deep. His hand explored everywhere it would reach, along Steve’s spine, over his hip, and down his leg.

“So gorgeous,” Bucky murmured. He pulled back, almost all the way out, then moved his hips in small arcs, so that with each thrust the tip of his dick slipped out, then gently pressed back in. Steve let out a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper.

“Yeah, Stevie.” Bucky’s movements gradually went deeper, impossibly slower. Steve moaned when Bucky’s hand gripped his hipbone, hard. “Love your hips.” Bucky was panting now. “Feel just the same. Just right. You’re so—” Bucky’s thrusts were faster now and erratic, but each time he hit just the right spot.

“Yeah, like that,” Steve said. “Just like that. It’s—”

“You like that?”

“God, yeah.”

Abruptly Bucky stopped moving, and Steve groaned in frustration. “Don’t tease, Buck. I was close.” Steve tried to shove backward with his hips, but Bucky’s hand clamped down to keep him still. Steve groaned again.

“Maybe I don’t want you close,” Bucky said.

But he loosened his hold, letting Steve move as he wanted. He rocked back hard, over and over.

“I love watching you.” Bucky’s hand rested lightly on the small of Steve’s back—not slowing him down, but grounding him. “I don’t even have to move when you’re like this. I can just watch you fuck yourself on my dick until you come.”

“Holy—” Steve rocked faster. “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky leaned forward, letting Steve bear his weight. He wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock—not even stroking, just giving him something to push into. Steve thrust into Bucky’s grip, then back to get Bucky deeper. He heard Bucky’s encouraging murmurs, though he didn’t understand the words, and shoved forward again as pleasure exploded up his spine. He fucked Bucky’s fist mindlessly—into the silken glide of Bucky’s fingers, slick with his come. After a second surge, then a third, Steve crumpled onto the bed, his arm caught awkwardly under his chest. Bucky rode him down. He gave a few hard thrusts, then froze, shaking and silent as he came, before collapsing on Steve’s back.

Steve pulled his arm out from under his chest, then lay sprawled, boneless and thoughtless, under the comforting warmth of Bucky’s body. He yawned loudly, and Bucky laughed, toppling off onto the mattress beside Steve. “See, I knew you were tired.”

“I don’t sleep so well when you’re away.”

Steve regretted saying it the minute it was out of his mouth, but Bucky’s smile didn’t fade completely.

“I’m here now,” Bucky said.

“Yeah.” Steve lifted his head just enough to crane forward and give Bucky a kiss. “Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

*****

When Steve opened his eyes the next morning, Bucky was already awake, lying still, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. Steve watched him for a while, quietly, glad neither of them had anywhere to be.

Their lives were different from anything Steve could have imagined before the war. Back then, Bucky was always up before the sun, working double shifts. Some days Steve didn’t see him for more than an hour or two, late at night. Maybe Steve should feel lucky to have so little to do, so much money and so much leisure. But there had been something satisfying in scrambling to make ends meet. Something precious in what little time they could scrape out for each other.

Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s side. “Do you ever wish we could go back?”

“No,” Bucky said immediately.

“I mean knowing what we know now,” Steve explained. “Everything seemed simpler. Our troubles so much easier to—”

“No,” Bucky said again. “Some things couldn’t be fixed.”

“I just meant—” Steve said.

But Bucky didn’t even pause for breath. “Thinking I was going to lose you ten times every winter? No thanks. Not even with . . . everything.”

Steve relaxed, his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He thought about getting up for a run, but he didn’t think he could drag himself away from Bucky after so long sleeping alone.

Bucky nudged at the side of Steve’s head with his chin. “So last night, what we were saying about it being good to talk. . . .”

That was obviously an opening salvo. “Yeah?”

“Like I kept feeling annoyed when you asked about getting a new arm, but I never told you how much it bugged me.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s good to talk about it.” “So there’s something I want to tell you.” Bucky squirmed in Steve’s arms.

Steve gave him a squeeze. “Okay.”

“I should have told you before.”

“It’s okay, Buck. You can tell me anything.” And Steve meant it, but with Bucky hesitating so much—it wasn’t like him—Steve braced himself for something he wouldn’t like hearing.

“It’s not bad. It’s just . . . It’s actually really good. I should have told you a long time ago, but when I didn’t for such a long time, it got harder to bring it up. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

Bucky bit his lip, then sighed and gazed up at the ceiling for a long time before he finally blurted out, “I’ve been talking to a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Steve said. “You mean a therapist? A counselor?”

Bucky nodded.

“But that’s great,” Steve said. “That’s really great.”

“Yeah, Sam—” Bucky ran his fingers through his hair. “He found her.”

Steve was torn between annoyance that both Bucky and Sam kept this from him and gratitude that he had friends so determined to protect him.

“Remember that night?” Bucky said “The first time I really met Sam? You went to get the pizza and Sam told me he’d found someone who specializes in people who’ve been . . . well, POWs, or people who’ve been kidnapped, or—hey, come on.”

Bucky turned to Steve and put his arm around him. Steve’s horror that there was a need for such a specialization must have been obvious on his face, and he squashed the feeling. “No, it’s okay,” Steve said. “It’s good. If Sam recommended her—”

“Yeah.” Bucky wore a small smile. “As Colleen puts it, she works with people who are really fucked up. She’s supposed to be the best.”

Steve could see that someone straight-talking and sarcastic like that would be easier for Bucky to talk to.

“Colleen’s in New York,” Bucky said. “That’s part of the reason I’ve been leaving so much. I kept going to see her.”

“But we’ve been in New York for weeks,” Steve pointed out. “And you still left.”

Bucky turned his face away. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean after I talk to her,” Bucky explained. “It’s usually a couple of hours, just talking. So much talking. Or listening to her. Sometimes she has me write stuff down, but I’m so tired when we’re done. I sleep forever. But there’s nightmares. I just wanted to keep you separate from all of that.”

Steve took a deep breath before he answered. “But not knowing where you were—that was worse. I thought I was one of the things you were running away from.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Bucky turned onto his side and grabbed Steve’s arm. “I’m really sorry. Just last week I told Colleen that I’d never told you, and she gave me hell for it.”

“I thought therapists weren’t supposed to judge.”

Bucky laughed. “Maybe they’re allowed to when you do something really stupid.” His hand gripped Steve’s arm tightly. “I should have told you where I was going. And I should have called. And I am sorry. But it was all kind of messed up in my head. I felt like I had to do it on my own. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. And when I left this last time, it was because I really wanted to figure some things out with Colleen. I wanted to talk. To get better. Even if it can’t ever be the same.”

Steve wanted to kiss Bucky, but he had a feeling that talking was more important now, so he held himself back. “I was thinking about that.”

“About what?”

“About things not being the same. And I realized something. Even if we’d gone home to Brooklyn in 1945, nothing would ever have been the same. After the war, everything would have been different. We weren’t kids anymore.”

“I guess not,” Bucky said thoughtfully. “This is where you tell me that just because it’s not the same, doesn’t mean it can’t be good, right?”

Steve poked Bucky’s ribs. “You said it, not me.”

Bucky was quiet for a while, and Steve started to think again about a run, about breakfast.

“Hey, Steve?”

There was a nervous note in Bucky’s voice. They weren’t done talking yet.

“Yeah?”

“There was another thing I talked about with Colleen, and I wanted to see what you think.”

“Okay.”

Bucky didn’t hesitate for very long this time. “Whenever you talk about us living in New York, you make it seem like it’s temporary.”

“Do I?”

“I want to stay. Maybe not forever, but . . . I like it there. DC is . . . It just feels more like home in New York. I can be anonymous when I want to. But I don’t just mean New York, I mean in the tower.”

Steve was surprised, but he didn’t hate the idea. Before he could answer, Bucky continued.

“I know Stark is . . . Stark. But you gotta admit, his security is good.” His eyes darted up to meet Steve’s, then away again. “I feel safe there.”

“Fine by me.” Steve wanted to sound casual—like it was no big deal. But to hear Bucky talking like this, making decisions, asking for what he needed, what he wanted—it was overwhelmingly wonderful. “I don’t care about this place.”

“And if there’s even a chance I’ll want a prosthetic from Stark someday, I gotta learn to trust him more. And if we’re in New York, now that you know about Colleen—I mean, it’s not as bad now when I’m done with her. I handle it better. Maybe I don’t even have to leave at all. Or not for very long.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Buck. I mean it. It’s great. I’d love it if you didn’t have to leave.”

Bucky took a deep breath and looked up, smiling when he met Steve’s gaze. Steve let himself pull Bucky close then, but he didn’t relax into it, so Steve released him after only a quick peck.

Bucky’s expression turned stern. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me, when I come back from a session. I just need rest, is all. I need to—”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. “I want to help. You always could have come back to me.”

“You don’t know what it was like. At first—” After a long pause, Bucky continued. “I couldn’t have been around you like that. I would never—”

Steve opened his mouth to object but stopped instantly when Bucky grimaced, thinking of Sam’s advice: _I always try to listen more than I talk_.

“I got really sick at first,” Bucky began. “I looked it up online. And later I talked to Colleen about it. I think it was withdrawal. They must’ve been giving me some kind of drug. It took me a while to shake it off.”

Steve felt sick himself at the thought. It made him want to curl around Bucky’s body, though he couldn’t protect him from what was past.

“I was confused—everything all jumbled up. It came back, but—” Bucky shook his head. “I watched you a lot. I think I needed to know that you were safe. But I only let you see me when I couldn’t stand to stay away.”

“I would have helped.”

“I know,” Bucky snapped. Then his voice softened. “Sorry. I know—I know you wanted to help, but like I told you, I needed to keep you separate. The one good thing in my head.”

“Bucky—”

“I didn’t want you to take care of me because you felt obligated.”

Steve jerked away, suddenly furious. “After all the times you took care of me when I was sick? Did you do it because you felt obligated?”

“Wait,” Bucky said. “We settled this way back in the thirties, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, well, it works both ways. Hell, you’re still doing it now.”

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me. You’ve been taking care of me since I left the nursing home yesterday. Are you doing it because you feel obligated?”

“Okay.” Bucky ran his hand down Steve’s arm, but instead of soothing Steve, it made him angrier. He pulled his arm away. “C’mon,” Bucky whispered. “I said okay.” He rubbed Steve’s arm again, and this time, Steve gave in and pushed his forehead against Bucky’s.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “If you really want to help. . . .”

“I do. Of course I do.”

“Colleen said you could come along sometime.”

“To your sessions?”

Bucky paused before answering. “Yeah.”

“You mean—what? Couples therapy?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I want to,” Steve said. “I want to come, if it’ll help.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his body relaxed, pressing closer to Steve—it hadn’t been easy for him to ask.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “And you have to talk too.”

“Of course I’ll talk. Not much point in me going if I don’t—”

“I mean now,” Bucky said. “About what you want.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want anything.”

Bucky pulled away enough to give him a pointed look.

Steve tried again. “I want whatever you want.”

“That’s not how it works. You don’t just go along. We gotta compromise. I thought you’d want to stay in DC. Peggy’s here.”

Steve rubbed his face, sighing. “Sometimes I think it would be better not to see her. She forgets, and then she’s so upset when she sees me and remembers. Sometimes I think—”

“Don’t do that to her,” Bucky said quietly. “It’s always better to remember.”

Steve paused, not letting himself cringe. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay.”

Bucky didn’t seem upset, but Steve still regretted saying it.

“But it’s not a reason to stay here,” Steve said. “I can be here in a few hours if Peggy needs me.”

“What about Sam? And now I know you have the group at the VA.”

“I’ll see Sam when I come to see Peggy, and he likes coming to New York—he’ll visit. And I can find another group if I want. I can’t find another you.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I’m a real prize.”

“You are.” Steve gave Bucky a gentle shake. “You are to me.”

“Well, if you’re gonna get sappy—”

Steve grabbed Bucky around the waist and pulled him close so they were pressed together chest to knee. “I’ve always had a lot of sappy feelings about you, Buck.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve bent his head for another kiss. “And now that we’re doing this talking thing, I can tell you all about them.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side. “You make it sound like a threat, but. . . .”

“But what?”

“I know you love me. I do know that.”

“I—” What he felt for Bucky—it was the most important thing in the world to Steve, but had he ever said it out loud? “Bucky.”

“No, Steve, forget I said anything.”

Bucky leaned away, but Steve held onto him.

“No, Bucky, come here. I—Of course I love you. I love you with all my heart.”

“Steve.”

“It’s not just sappy stuff. It’s more than that. It’s part of who I am, deep down. And it’s not just obligation, it’s—it’s a privilege, and—”

“Steve.”

“I can’t believe I never said it. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky kissed him then, nice and slow.

“It’s not like I ever said it either,” Bucky whispered, his fingers weaving into Steve’s hair. “But I do. I love you.”

And it _was_ good to hear.

*****

After a week in DC, Peggy’s health was still holding steady. Her daughter remained polite, but Steve got the definite feeling that he was wearing out his welcome. When he left the nursing home, he kissed Peggy goodbye and told her he’d come back in a few weeks.

Bucky greeted Steve at the door with a kiss. It seemed like he hadn’t left the apartment at all since they got to DC, though he must have snuck out during the day now and then, because there was always something in the fridge for dinner. As Steve hung up his jacket, Bucky returned to his place on the couch and picked up the book he’d left open, face down on the cushion.

As Steve sank down next to Bucky and rubbed his leg, he said, “I think it’s time to head back to New York.”

“You sure? It’s fine if you want to stay.”

Steve didn’t want to be the reason Bucky was away from New York—and his therapist—so long, but he didn’t want to bring that up. Instead he shrugged and told a partial truth. “I think Peggy’s daughter is tired of me hanging around. Plus Peggy’s fine. She’s not going anywhere.”

Bucky nodded slowly.

“Maybe we could go together.”

“Go where?”

“Back to New York,” Steve said. “Where else?”

Bucky frowned. “What, on the train?”

“I thought I could rent a car. Just one way. People do that.”

Bucky’s expression softened, then brightened until he was fighting a grin. “Do they?”

“So I’m told. That way we could go together.”

Bucky shrugged. But a small smile lingered on his face, and after turning a few pages, he said, without looking up from his book, “Could we go tonight?”

Steve looked at his watch. “It’s not even five. I bet we could do it.”

“Can we get a car?”

“Sure,” Steve said. Though he had no idea how late places like that stayed open, he wanted to keep the smile growing on Bucky’s face. “Sure we can.”

*****

As Steve drove out of Pennsylvania, he was surprised to see a diner listed among all the fast food restaurants on one of the green signs by the highway. They’d had a couple of lousy drive-through burgers for dinner, but it had been hours. He thought of pie à la mode and good strong coffee and pulled onto the ramp. The change in speed startled Bucky out of his doze.

“You want a piece of pie?” Steve asked.

Still half-asleep, Bucky just stared at him.

“I’m hungry,” Steve said. “It won’t take long.”

Bucky said nothing. When they pulled into a parking spot, he bent down to peer through the windshield, casing the joint.

Steve stretched his arm into the back seat, grabbed his ball cap, and pulled it on, low over his eyes. It had been a couple of days since he’d shaved, and he felt confident that no one would recognize him. “We’re in Jersey.”

“ _Jersey_ ,” Bucky said.

“I just mean we’re nowhere. Where nobody will expect us. Come with me, Buck.”

Bucky looked at him.

“Cherry pie?” Steve said.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Not apple?” But he grabbed his own cap and threw the car door open. Steve scrambled to get out too and stood beaming at Bucky as he walked around the front of the car, jamming the hat onto his head.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Bucky grumbled as they climbed the steps. Steve held the door open with a flourish, and Bucky glared. “Will you cut it out? You’re no good at this.”

“We’re fine,” Steve said. “Did you see the car I got? It’s gray. It’s got four doors. It’s the most boring car in the—”

“Yeah, you did fine with the car,” Bucky said. “But try a little harder.”

Steve shoved Bucky’s shoulder. “Just cause _you_ can’t keep your eyes off me—”

Bucky snorted out a laugh, and the hostess approached, smiling at them indulgently.

At Steve’s request, she seated them at the counter. It made Bucky twitchy, having his back to the door—Steve hadn’t even thought about it. But once Steve ordered and the waitress brought their pie and coffee without screaming in horror or pointing an accusatory finger, Bucky started eating with something like enjoyment.

Steve scraped his plate with the side of his fork to get the last smear of sweet, sticky filling. “That whole compromise thing. I thought of something else I want.”

It took just a sideways look, the slightest flick of Bucky’s eyebrow, and Steve’s dick perked up inside his boxers.

“That too,” Steve said. He didn’t mind turning bright red if it meant having Bucky relaxed enough to tease like that. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Bucky shoveled a forkful of pie into his mouth.

“I was just thinking that if we do figure something out—some deal, you could come running with me. I’d really like that.”

Bucky’s head fell forward, and he groaned.

“Okay, that can wait. We can do some other training.”

“Steve—”

“That’s another advantage of living in the tower,” Steve said. “Tony has a great gym.”

Still chewing thoughtfully, Bucky nudged Steve’s shoulder with his.

“Okay?” Steve said. “Is that a yes?”

Bucky didn’t answer—just gave him another nudge, but even when the waitress approached to warm up their coffee, Bucky didn’t tense up again.

He fell soundly asleep the minute they were back on the highway, and again Steve wished they were already there so he could lead Bucky to bed and press up close. The traffic was thin so late at night—Steve needed the radio to keep himself awake—and they made good time, pulling into the tower garage before midnight.

“Hey, Bucky, we’re here.” Steve unbuckled his belt and reached over to give Bucky’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Wake up, Buck. We’re home.”

A slow sleepy smile spread across Bucky’s face before he’d even opened his eyes.

 

**The End**

****

****

*****

**The After-the-Credits Scene**

****

****

“Why do I think your heart isn’t in this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I waited until _nine_. And I made coffee.”

“Which is surprising,” Bucky said, finally losing his surly frown. “Given that self-preservation has never been your strong suit.”

“I’ll make you breakfast after.”

“As if that was even a question.”

“We could go for a run instead.”

Bucky made a face. He still refused to venture out in public with Steve after months in New York. But he’d only left three times—Steve still didn’t know where he slept when he didn’t come home—and he’d texted each night right around midnight to check in.

Steve lifted both fists. “You ready?”

“Quit stalling, Rogers. Just get it over with.”

Steve wasn’t fooled by Bucky’s casual stance into thinking he wasn’t ready. He could move faster than Steve could think, twisting away like a shadow. But Bucky’d resisted the idea of sparring, even in the relative safety of the tower gym, and only when Steve pushed, bringing it up during one of their sessions with Colleen, did Bucky grudgingly admit that he felt restless and agree to a little exercise.

“You know you’re helping me out, right?” Steve said. “I need the practice, and no one else can keep up with me.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky said. “I’ve seen Romanov. She could take you any day.”

“That’s not true.” Steve made a feint forward, but Bucky ignored him.

“Cause you won’t fight dirty,” Bucky insisted.

“Yeah, I would.”

Bucky let out a snort. “Not against a dame.”

Bucky was probably right about that, but it suited Steve’s purposes just fine. “So I guess that leaves you.”

“I guess so.” But Bucky still didn’t move.

“What’s the matter?” Steve threw a wild haymaker that Bucky deflected casually. “You chicken?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky said. But he laughed out loud.

The sound made Steve so damn happy.

“You love it,” Steve said.

He spun and aimed a kick at Bucky’s knee, but Bucky stepped easily out of the way and gave Steve’s left side a hard jab with his knuckles.

“You rely on the shield too much,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve had left his shield upstairs. Partially because he was well aware of his own reliance on it for defense and partially because it didn’t seem fair to use it when Bucky only had the one arm. But as Bucky backed him across the mat with a relentless series of attacks, Steve began to rethink the decision.

“You’re good,” Steve panted.

His hand drawn back for another punch, Bucky paused and rolled his eyes, but then his gaze went to Steve’s mouth. Steve was tempted to push close for a kiss, but not when he’d finally gotten Bucky to let loose.

“Maybe if we figure out that amnesty deal,” Steve continued. “You could help me out with missions once in a while.”

“Are we talking?” Bucky said. “I thought you wanted a workout.”

“It would be great. You and me?”

“Sounds like the worst movie ever: _Cap and the One-armed Bandit_.”

Steve aimed for Bucky’s belly, a half-hearted effort that Bucky knocked aside with a pointed look.

“Quit fooling around, Steve. If we’re gonna do this—”

“C’mon, Buck. You know I’d always pick you over all the two-armed guys.”

“You’re an idiot.” But Bucky was fighting a smile. “I mean it. Completely ridiculous.”

“Cause you’re my best pal,” Steve said, lunging for Bucky and grabbing him—half headlock, half hug—to whisper in his ear. “And you know there’s nobody else I’d rather have standing by my side.”

Bucky slipped out of Steve’s arms—did it so fast he was halfway across the mat before Steve figured out how he’d gotten away.

But Steve didn’t give chase. “I wasn’t kidding.”

After a long silence, Bucky turned his head, rolling his eyes when he saw Steve’s expression. “No wonder they put you on tour. Who can resist? So _earnest_.”

Bucky charged at Steve, eyes narrowed, tackling him flat on his back.

“Come on, Steve, you’re not even trying.”

Steve pushed his hips up against Bucky’s, rocking into him until his eyes went hazy. Then Steve flipped them over so that he was on top with his thigh pressing down on Bucky’s erection.

“See?” Steve mouthed at Bucky’s ear. “I can fight dirty.” Bucky shoved at Steve’s chest. Not very hard though, so Steve didn’t move away. “Did sparring always make you hot like this?” Steve teased. “Cause I think I would remember that.”

Bucky turned his face away, and Steve watched, delighted, as pink spread across Bucky’s face. Bucky’s tongue poked out and swept across his lower lip. Steve stared for a long moment before he leaned in, hoping for a kiss. But Bucky tumbled them over, contorting his body somehow to pin Steve with one knee on his chest, his arm across his neck. He eased back the pressure on Steve’s throat immediately, but his leg pressed heavily on Steve’s ribs.

“You really want me to start thinking about this stuff when I see you fight?” Bucky said. “Make it so I can’t even be decent on a mission if you keep this up.”

“So you have thought about it.” Steve said.

Bucky made a face.

“Natasha’s still working on that deal,” Steve said. “If she’s able—”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty big _if_ ,” Bucky said. “Even if she works something out . . . I’d have to think about it.”

“And Tony said his PR people—”

“Yeah, that’s just the kind of publicity we need—the Winter Soldier tenting his shorts for Captain America while all the Avengers try not to stare.”

“They wouldn’t stare,” Steve said. It was his turn to blush.

“Romanov would stare.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

Bucky was looking down at Steve, studying him. Finally, he said, “Okay. I’ll think about it. But—”

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “I don’t—You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Bucky looked thoughtful. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You can take your time. Making up your mind.”

“I will.” Bucky pressed his knee down harder on Steve’s chest. “You though—you’re outta time.”

“I am?”

“You gotta make up your mind right now. Are we here to get a real workout? Or are you looking for a different kind of exercise?”

“Why not both?”

“I already told you. Besides, Stark walking in on us kissing was bad enough, if he—”

Steve cut him off. “No! No, I meant first one and then the other.”

“Hey,” Bucky said. He got off Steve, springing to his feet and immediately dropping into a defensive crouch. “That’s a deal I don’t need to even think about.”


End file.
